continued. “Not to mention Brownie Kefauver and half the city council. They feed on these kind of issues. They come out of nowhere, put their finger to the wind to see which way it blows, then they cash right in.”
Frank Carlisle is one of Ohio’s thirty-three state senators, and unfortunately, he belongs to Bob and me and the 329,998 other people he represents in our large, rural district. He used to be one of our representatives in Washington, but he retired from that job about six years ago in his early sixties, preferring, he said, to work on a smaller scale and a more personal level.
In my mind, every time a politician moves down of his own accord, it means there’s a scandal he’s trying to avoid, but what do I know? Anyway, it’s a toss-up which position was worse for Ohio. Do we want people like Carlisle am-bushing American ideals and Ohio’s reputation on a national level? Or do we want to keep that blessing closer to home?
“Has Carlisle or Kefauver jumped into the fray?” I asked. “Or are you speaking generally?”
“Generally, for the moment. Kefauver’s trying to figure out which position will get him the most votes in the next election. Carlisle’s trumpeting American values so loudly his listeners think they’ve been recruited to picket anybody that moves, chews, or has an opinion. But he’ll be making it personal soon enough. You know he’s coming to town, right?”
I could see why he was frothing at the mouth. That wasn’t going to make things better.
He saw me shake my head. “To dedicate the new service center. The one they’re building out on Gleason Road?”
I knew about the service center since it was a big deal in a small community, but only vaguely. “When’s that?”
“I don’t know, a couple of weeks I think. Maybe a little sooner. And who knows, he gets wind of what’s going on with my store, he’ll drop by to add his two cents’ worth before the dedication. No stone left unturned. You wait and see.”
“Maybe he won’t bother. Maybe this issue is too small.”
“It’s not small to me. I already had to refinance my house. And by the way, just make a list of anything you see today that you think we should carry. I’ll have to work out the costs before we order a single book.”
I wondered if Keely needed help marketing her birdhouses. I suspected I was going to be at loose ends very soon.
By the time we arrived at the trade show and parked, Bob was in a better mood. He’d smoked three more cigarettes to lift his spirits while I vowed silently never to set foot in a car with him again.
We separated at the door so we could each cover half the room. The exhibition hall was huge, and Bob had promised I would be home in time for dinner. Ed was getting back from Columbus in time to pick up the girls and make his specialty spaghetti sauce.
I wandered, entranced. I love books, and I started reading to my daughters the moment they emerged from my womb. Even now that Deena reads to entertain herself and Teddy is sounding out words in simple chapter books, I still read to them every night. I’m not sure which is more fun, the girls or the books themselves. Sometimes I wonder if we have children because our own childhoods aren’t long enough.
As I looked I wrote down some promising titles, skipping those about subjects so gloomy they would deaden young readers to the evils of the world or turn them into insomniacs. That left me with a plethora of books, but I was careful and only wrote down the best to save poor Bob from embarrassment.
Thumbing through picture books on one publisher’s revolving display rack, I pondered why most of the celebrities in America thought they could write simplistic moral tales, when their own personal lives were a total mess. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned, expecting to find Bob.
“Aggie, what are you doing here?”
Joan Barstow is the head librarian at Teddy’s new school, and a member of our congregation. She’s
Frank Carlisle is one of Ohio’s thirty-three state senators, and unfortunately, he belongs to Bob and me and the 329,998 other people he represents in our large, rural district. He used to be one of our representatives in Washington, but he retired from that job about six years ago in his early sixties, preferring, he said, to work on a smaller scale and a more personal level.
In my mind, every time a politician moves down of his own accord, it means there’s a scandal he’s trying to avoid, but what do I know? Anyway, it’s a toss-up which position was worse for Ohio. Do we want people like Carlisle am-bushing American ideals and Ohio’s reputation on a national level? Or do we want to keep that blessing closer to home?
“Has Carlisle or Kefauver jumped into the fray?” I asked. “Or are you speaking generally?”
“Generally, for the moment. Kefauver’s trying to figure out which position will get him the most votes in the next election. Carlisle’s trumpeting American values so loudly his listeners think they’ve been recruited to picket anybody that moves, chews, or has an opinion. But he’ll be making it personal soon enough. You know he’s coming to town, right?”
I could see why he was frothing at the mouth. That wasn’t going to make things better.
He saw me shake my head. “To dedicate the new service center. The one they’re building out on Gleason Road?”
I knew about the service center since it was a big deal in a small community, but only vaguely. “When’s that?”
“I don’t know, a couple of weeks I think. Maybe a little sooner. And who knows, he gets wind of what’s going on with my store, he’ll drop by to add his two cents’ worth before the dedication. No stone left unturned. You wait and see.”
“Maybe he won’t bother. Maybe this issue is too small.”
“It’s not small to me. I already had to refinance my house. And by the way, just make a list of anything you see today that you think we should carry. I’ll have to work out the costs before we order a single book.”
I wondered if Keely needed help marketing her birdhouses. I suspected I was going to be at loose ends very soon.
By the time we arrived at the trade show and parked, Bob was in a better mood. He’d smoked three more cigarettes to lift his spirits while I vowed silently never to set foot in a car with him again.
We separated at the door so we could each cover half the room. The exhibition hall was huge, and Bob had promised I would be home in time for dinner. Ed was getting back from Columbus in time to pick up the girls and make his specialty spaghetti sauce.
I wandered, entranced. I love books, and I started reading to my daughters the moment they emerged from my womb. Even now that Deena reads to entertain herself and Teddy is sounding out words in simple chapter books, I still read to them every night. I’m not sure which is more fun, the girls or the books themselves. Sometimes I wonder if we have children because our own childhoods aren’t long enough.
As I looked I wrote down some promising titles, skipping those about subjects so gloomy they would deaden young readers to the evils of the world or turn them into insomniacs. That left me with a plethora of books, but I was careful and only wrote down the best to save poor Bob from embarrassment.
Thumbing through picture books on one publisher’s revolving display rack, I pondered why most of the celebrities in America thought they could write simplistic moral tales, when their own personal lives were a total mess. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned, expecting to find Bob.
“Aggie, what are you doing here?”
Joan Barstow is the head librarian at Teddy’s new school, and a member of our congregation. She’s
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