Tild's Decision

It had been a conundrum of a week. The dread of the none event weighed heavily on Tild's mind as she fought to lift her sick head from the pillow. It was Sunday morning .. only another 12 hours and she would have to force herself to bed again to adhere to the unnatural requirements of working hours in America.

"Push the thought away for it serves no purpose", she thought.

Why use the word "conundrum" to describe the past week? Well, because it had bought about confusing and difficult questions. A series of unfortunate events had yielded an immensely powerful threat to Reason. There was simply no point going back to understand how it had happened. It had. Would Tild now sit idly on the sidelines watching the dangerous dance proceed without doing anything? She was an expert at this as she had hidden her true voice for so many years in her professional life. It was that piece of her that proved to be the most disappointing of all. But she had reached that certain age, that age where supposedly one "arrives". The age where final confirmation that one will not change becomes apparent. Certain habits can be bought into abeyance, but beliefs and passions remain. They are undoubtedly better articulated now, but nothing across the years had changed their essence.

So why had she so politely hidden behind a curtain when it came to her political beliefs. It was interesting that with all of her social media posts, she had created a persona that reeked of democratic vibes. She was assumed to be what she really was and so why was it so difficult for her to "come out"? Why wasn't she allowing her disbelief to flow out as questions to her general following? It may have been an overwhelming sense of guilt at not being brave enough to shout. Tild disliked the fact that she could be perceived as lacking the courage of her convictions. One step at a time though.

Over the past months, Tild had avidly watched the race evolve. Passively and true to herself she had studied both sides of the equation. And in the end, she was so confident in her assumption that good would preside over evil that she had actively done nothing.

The morning after the day of reckoning, she had pulled her phone into her sleepy vision and had smiled knowing that what she was about to see would act as a confirmation that she was absolutely right about where she had cast her theoretical vote. She had touched the activate button with closed eyes, only peeping long enough to enter the password into the inevitable Results. The small screen reacted to her touch and she took a breath and focused. What she read next forced her eyes to shut. She took a great breath and then flashed a stare at the headlines in complete shock. "Say it isn't so" she begged herself.

What happened after that was weeks of floating in an uncertain abyss. What to do now? Tild was under immense pressure to come to terms with her stance. Not being a child of the sixties meant that she had never experienced the call for full-blown activism. Yesterday, she had woken up in the sick haze of influenza. Thus, she would not be getting on the bus to make the journey into the City to join with hundreds of other like-minded people who needed to peacefully represent the intelligent. No, instead she had made up her sick bed in front of the fire and watched in awe as City after City appeared with thousands upon thousands peacefully marching into the essence of their respective government sites. Throughout the day the Capital cities of many a foreign country were also featured. What was happening here? Tild had never witnessed such a rising and she suddenly felt the urge to begin publicly acknowledging those brave friends of hers that had made the effort to march. Not just that, but they had made sure that their efforts were shared across all social media.

"What's your excuse" Tild challenged herself. Sick, sick as a dog? Yes. "So what will you do tomorrow"?

Sleep didn't come easy that night even with the medicine. Tild's thoughts had been battling themselves. The truly disturbing fact that had evolved was that she feared the consequences of becoming more open with her opinions. She wasn't from here and at the proverbial push of a button she could be sent back to her homeland after all these years. And at that moment of realization .. at that moment of fear .. at that moment of true confession .. she felt a mantle of courage fall down upon her shoulders. And then Edith began to sing ..

No! No regrets
No! I will have no regrets
All the things that went wrong
For at last I have learned to be strong

Until the next time, Tild remained .. planning her next move. 

Scruffy by The Seeker

Why don't we learn to love like this?
Just joy and comfort and happy heart
Pure of purpose, living laughter, merry mischief, void of malice
Rolling back "I'm scared" or "tickle me!"

I have known you many years
Held you in my arms, kind companion
Run and danced and laughed with you
But we have never spoken
Unless it was the mute magic of those big brown eyes
Which gazed and glimmered telling me all ... Love and loyalty and laughter

How can I thank you, tell you what you have done?
Children's comfort, tireless toy, great heart, brave protector, fearless friend
Sometimes only you, gentle guardian
To heal my hurts, keep sorrows shadows from my sleep.
Do you know? Can you ground my grief
And lick away these tears which fall for you?

So now, when you leave you must live in me
A whisper in a winter walk or rustling memory isn't he autumn leaves,
And when I come home at last, weary, worn,
I'll know I'll have a friend, perhaps reborn perhaps amongst the stars
And I'll find you waiting -
Loyal and leaping, wagging welcome
We'll rest together, clean of cares.

The Sun by The Seeker

Why does the sky blush wth the coming of night?
Is it for the tender touch conceived in the darker hour?
Or our silent sins - lost in the lingering light?
No! It is the golden glow and the maidens sigh - for the kiss of the western fire.

Tild Does It Again

It was New Year's Eve and Tild had been busy. She had spent the day reviewing the year's accomplishments according to Corporate America. After twenty-five years of playing the game, it had become a lot less stressful. It was a matter of going back to her mid-year results and then based on how things looked in December, she would spin a tale of hope. It was a curious art form and one that takes a certain amount of courage and wit. Tild had spent the first few hours running a myriad of year-end HR reports for the current as well as the prior period. She then spun each set into organized analytical tables. Once these were neatly set against each other in a summary file, she had paused for lunch. This consisted of fresh Naan bread suitably microwaved, upon which she dumped dollops of Cajun Crab dip; this was accompanied by a freshly cored crisp red apple that had been very thinly sliced. She needed an interesting tea to stimulate what could become an ominous task. She reached into her work backpack and pulled out the gift she had received from her favorite administrative assistant. Tild pulled out three of the lemongrass ginger-flavored tea pouches from the neatly packaged set and then began the aged ritual of brewing the perfect pot. Once the tea was safely steeping inside the large blue patterned teapot she reached for another one of her interesting experiments to finalize the process. It had started as a knitted hat which through a strike of complete genius she had morphed into the perfect tea cozy.

As usual, Tild had set up her desk for Round Two of her task. She was the sort of person that had to have things arranged to accommodate whatever activity she was set. Her two fountain pens sat next to her work journal that sat open at two stark white lined pages with the book ribbon draped down through the middle. The calculator, her safety aid, lay on the other side of the computer and two scented candles completed the set. She sat down and interlocked her fingers then pushed them out straightening her arms in a full stretch. "Right", she said. "Now for something completely different," she thought.

After about an hour she was deep within discovery, spinning a web to surround the combination of conflicting numbers. What would impress her boss the most? She knew that a sure way of securing a favorable year-end rating was to provide the type of information that could be easily cut and pasted into the Results of Management. And then her phone pinged. Annoying, because her mind was tangled up in thoughtful analysis.

It was a text that read "I'll be over at about 7 and I'll take you out for a crab dinner". It was from an ex-boyfriend who she had recently begun to see again.

"Oh God," she thought. "I'll cook for you here if you can pick up food on the way over here" she sent back.

"Can you go get the food because I am working" came the response.

"I started with a very early call with the U.K. this morning and am knee-deep in analytics" she spat back. Then, "and I'm struggling with the visit to your sister's on New Year's Day. I really don't want to go out. You can come here and I'll cook for you. If you need to stay over you can sleep on the couch".

She was now thoroughly distracted. It had been a few months since she had started seeing him again. In her mind, they were NOT dating, even though she had tangled the sheets with him a couple of times. He was the sweetest of men. A very fit body for a 60+-year-old man. Short and neat. She had still been drinking wine when they had initially rekindled their friendship, and it was this beverage that had facilitated the mundane sex. But, in the dog days of sobriety, the need to engage in physical contact was very far removed indeed. In fact, she had told him this on more than one occasion.

Tild had been traveling for work for quite a few weeks in the months leading up to Christmas and thought that she had aptly addressed his belief that the physical urge would come back in time. Over the holiday period she had taken two weeks off to completely unwind from the year. She did this most years as it was necessary to recoup and then return to the madness refreshed and ready for the next array of Company challenges. It was a wonderful time for Tild as she became herself.

Creativity abounded as she danced into days of making Amber Oatmeal soap and sugar scrub. The herbs that had been drying from her garden were blissfully stripped of their leaves and crushed together in witchy cooking mixtures. Tild also carved small wood creatures which she would mount and give out to unsuspecting friends. And then there was that book of hers that she would spend precious mornings attending to. All of this, and no time for a man.

"I'll be over at 7 and we can talk then" he pinged.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, he is annoying me again. I just don't want to see him, she said to herself. But as he was on his way she made the effort to shower and dress. It was New Year's Eve after all. But she didn't want to go out and sit at a bar and eat food surrounded by flat-screen televisions and mindless conversations. It wasn't that she was a snob. No, she was just over the scene and the desire to make small talk with people who didn't matter to her. Tild had grown wise and as she had kissed a very fond farewell to alcoholic beverages, she was no longer tolerant of mindless chat. In fact, she had become a bit of a hermit in her spare time and she had become completely satisfied with her own company, and that of her three dogs.

Tild was ready for her visitor and she sat down at the kitchen table. She had felt the urge to calm her nerves by pulling out her quill pen and writing down whatever came into her mind before he arrived. She had set a peaceful stage. The fire burned bright and warm and the scent of winter milled about the house. The inevitable knock at the door soon came.

Tild didn't get up. Rather, she allowed him to enter and greet the yapping 'doglets' as she smiled passively and said "here we go again" in her head.

"So I received a disturbing text from you earlier," he said taking off his coat.

"I don't think you should be surprised at anything that was in it" she offered. "I agree I think we do need to talk as it appears as if you are wanting things that I just can't offer you right now. I just have no desire to go out and sobriety helps me keep my clothes on. I am honestly begging for a friend. I just ..".

"I want more. I can't be just a friend. I want more. I would do anything for you and I am a very good guy." he said reaching down into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve his beeping phone.

"And I would like it if you would stop looking at your phone and talk to me," Tild said. "I know you deserve so much more, but I am in a very selfish mode right now. I want to become the best I have ever been. I only have one more dangerous vice to take on in the New Year and that's smoking. I've been planning it and it will take allot of strength, self-focus and a strong will. In the little free time I do have I have so much I want to do and it doesn't involve spending time with anyone other than the few I chose to. I like spending time with you, and only you; not your family, not your friends, not going out into the madding crowd". She stopped to breathe and was quite surprised that he was still looking at her.

"I'm a really good catch you know. A really good catch. I want more and I think, Matilda, that we should stop seeing each other. I can't just be your friend. I'm going to go right now". And without any further comment, he did.

Tild crossed her arms on her bosom and huffed. He bent down to kiss her on her cheek on his way out and offered a paltry "you have my number if you need to reach me".

Hang on one mind-blowing bogus minute Mister, she thought. "I'm a really good catch" she mouthed with her eyes raised up to the heavens. That's not the fucking point, her mind screamed as she couldn't even fathom how or why he had openly spoken these words.

Tild smiled and shook her head. It was all for the best. As she began to replay the previous few minutes of conversation she realized that she had been very neatly "dumped". In fact, it was a little too neat. Half of her encouraged the thought that she had purposefully engineered this. The other half held the belief that this very good catch would have had a backup readily available. After all, it was New Year's Eve.