My trip home was contemplative and eye opening.  I noted the following:  While the workers  of the United States may be experiencing a recession, I do not believe that those who are 'large and in charge' are  suffering at all.  As most everyone knows, by now, I took the train home and as I was transported along, I saw cars and cars and cars full of goods being transported along the railways.  And guess what?  Quite a lot of them, Costco comes to mind, have loading and unloading instructions written in CHINESE!  At least, I'm assuming it was loading and unloading instructions.  I cannot think of what else would be written on the sides of box cars.  Now, I am as big on world economic growth as the next semi educated person, but the thing is.....these goods have been bought from China, providing work for Chinese people while our own workers are running out of unemployment benefits??? This can't be right.

Some people blame our unions for this increasing imbalance, but I never did.  My Uncle Worden, a very bright man, explained to me one time that wages and benefits for American workers were the last thing to rise in an economy.  These things only went up, he said, after the owners had taken their profits.  Given that, as I said, I never blamed unions.  Of course, as time has gone by,  I'd have to say that I have changed my opinion  on that issue.  When, after my little health care issue,  I called my old union headquarters seeking support,  I made the following discoveries:  The full-time jobs that my cohorts and I were privileged to be able to work, complete with health benefits and pension plans no longer exist.  They have all been outsourced to part-timers who work at a far, far lower hourly rate and have no benefits whatsoever.  My former union leaders?  They all have cushy state jobs working for  the very bureau chiefs to whom they used to 'defend' and 'represent' us.  I have to admit, some of the things that went down right before I retired seemed a little fishy to me, but I never, for a second they were selling us out for their own benefit.  The thing is, the state budget is more bloated than ever.  Since, the legislature is  not replacing workers as they retire, where IS the money going?

However, back to my train trip:   The next thing I noticed, as we rolled through acres and acres of what was, obviously, farm land, signs that read (and I paraphrase), 'So and So County Industrial Park'.  Industrial Park????? Translation:  Factory Farm, I'm thinking.

So, as I said, our citizen:  our factory workers, our farmers, and the civil servants are suffering through a recession.  Big Business, Big Unions and Big Government are doing fine, thank you very much.

My 2011 Calendar with my favorite photos

http://www.cafepress.com/imgeofswbysally.494580161

Grandmother Britton

My Grandmother, Elsie Maude Jordan Britton, was born on December 4, 1888 in Missouri.    When I was growing up,  our family lived the closest to her, and therefore, my brothers , sister and I , spent a lot of  time with her.   Dressed up, with her hair tinted a lovely grayish blue, clad  in one of her dressier dresses and  wrapped in her fur stole , Grandmother was , at nearly six feet, quite an impressive woman. She was, also, just so darned eccentric! And did not have a clue that she was!  Eccentric, I mean.

 She would talk about my Aunt Susie in pitying, disapproving tones, the 'Poor Susie', voice.  Truth be told,  my Grandfather's sister, Susie, was  odd. She lived over by Tulsa University  in one half a duplex.  Her  cat, Wigiwoo, and her bantam hen, WeeWee lived with her.   She also had a coop full of bantam hens out back, but WeeWee  and Wigiwoo lived in. Once a year, Aunt Susie would paint her furniture in order to cover up the chicken poop. Not wash it off, just paint over it.  One Christmas my Mother  bought Aunt Susie a brand new slip. It was a Vanity Fair, and Mother had paid a full six dollars for it.  Aunt Susie had used it to help Wigiwoo through a difficult labor and delivery.  When my Mom  saw that bloodied slip, she got so damned mad she nearly spit.

Yes, my Great Aunt Susie was a trifle off kilter.  There is not much question  about that.  In fact, as I work my way through my entire family, anyone who follows my blog will note that my entire family is composed of distinctly individualistic people. But,  if my Grandmother realized that she, too, had a few 'issues,' which I strongly doubt, she just did not care.

 Grandmother had not driven anything since, as a new wife, she ran her Phaeton into a ditch and barely escaped with her life.  For this reason, she utilized me for errands.  I would hop on my bike with her grocery list or water bill payment and pedal off to do her business for her.   My Uncle Dudley sent her a savings bond every month  until the day she died, and the very second  one would mature,  my Grandmother would sign it  and dispatch me to the bank to cash it  She would, then, take the money and buy new china pieces that she would paint.  

One day when I got in from school, the phone was ringing.  This, of course, was before cell phones.  We had one phone.  It was attached to the wall of the dining room.  I answered to find my Grandmother on the other line. She had an errand

"Sally, I need for you to do some business for me.  Can you ride over?" 

I arrived, she came to the door and handed me a nicely wrapped package. "I want you to ride this over to Doctor Sommers' office.  Just hand it to the nurse."  And then, she said the wrong words. 'Make sure you don't open it."

Well, I darned sure did open it. I drove over to Hamilton's Grocery store, pulled around back, out of view of her house (not that she would have looked. It never occurred to her that any of her grandchildren would behave in a disobedient manner).  I , carefully pulled the tape loose and took a quick peek.  Then, just as quickly, sealed it back up and pedaled down the street towards the Doctor's office.  My grandmother was sending him a gift wrapped package of her stool sample.  And, this is the thing that, in retrospect, just amazes me. .......it never, for one second, occurred to me that sending a ten year old off on her bike with a package of stool sample was not a normal thing to do.  It was so 'not unusual' to me that I never even bothered to mention it to my parents. 

So, as I said, I did not regard my Grandmother as a particularly impressive person.  However, as I grew up, moved away and began to realize how she had lived her life, I became aware  that she was quite  daunting in very many ways.  Born in Missouri, she was one of the first women to be granted a college degree from a Missouri college.  Immediately upon graduation, she married a man who she barely knew and took off for Turley where she raised the two children he had from a previous marriage and gave birth to six more.  When her husband died, shortly before I was born, she was appointed as the Postmistress of Turley, and I am not sure (geneaology and family history are my cousin, Sharol's speciality), but I think she may have been the first woman to be appointed to such a position.  If she wasn't the first, she was one of the first. 

She was a good Mother who  reared eight socially responsible , good hearted people. Given that we lived in rural Oklahoma, it is amazing to me how socially and politically liberal her kids turned out to be. All of them, even the ones who voted Republican every now and then, were emphatically in favor of all of the freedoms: speech, religion, right to assemble, all of them.   Her kids were exceedingly patriotic and  loved this country with a passion.  They differed,  at times, on different policies, but their patriotism was never a question.  Many of her descendants have fought for the United States, some, who could not support certain wars and were Conscientious Objectors, still served via the medical service.

Grandmother was a little torn on the women's rights issue.  She believed that women should do whatever it was they wanted to do, as long as their husbands were properly looked after.  I can still remember her chiding my Mother if she found out my Dad had eaten a bologna sandwich for lunch. 'A man who works deserves a hot lunch, Alene. I taught you that.'    Of course, when my Grandfather had a farm, Grandmother cooked and fed not only my Grandad but all of the hired hands so she had no empathy for my Mother at all when Mother would say, 'Oh, he doesn't mind, and I was busy."  "Whether he minds or not, is not the point.  You should cook him a hot lunch."

When I married and told her I was going to start studying for my Master's, she was all for it, but also mentioned,  "Don't forget to cook breakfast for your husband before you leave for work."  Of course if she had lived long enough to see how THAT turned out,she would have told me to leave him a lot more quickly than I, actually, did. In that regard, she was , distinctly a feminist. It was the husband's duty  to provide and care for his wife and family, and if he did not,  Grandmother  was one hundred percent in favor of showing him the door.

  She had, in fact, supported my Great Aunt Velma  when, upon discovering her husband was a 'rounder' (and does anyone really know what that term means?) Aunt Velma  gave him the boot and proceeded to live out the rest of her life in happy singlehood.  At that time, women were encouraged to 'make the best of a bad situation., ' but my Grandmother always said a woman was entitled to a good man.  If she  had not been lucky, as Grandmother  felt herself to have been, a woman was  perfectly justified in moving on.

So, in closing, my Grandmother Britton was quite a woman.  Happy Birthday, Grandmother, and I'm sorry I told the story about the stool sample.

Thanksgiving 2010

I have learned so much from so many people. When I was growing up, women were 'housewives' or 'homemakers'. This was their job, their career, their profession, and I had aunts who did a bang up job at it.  My mom was good at it, too, but in a different way.  She was tops at the 'looking after' part, the keeping the community, the church and us  in line part, a little less enamored with the housework part. To open up the hallway cupboard in our house  was to risk death.  HEY!  I am NOT committing blasphemy here.  My mom was a gifted woman, but she would be the first to agree with what I just said.  Ask her when you see her.

 Quite frankly, while I would not go back to the days of less pay for the same, or better, work, I do feel that as we have progressed, at times, we have lost something....that time that was spent looking after those people in our families.   Of course, there were those lunatics who took it to an entire different level;  we call them 'helicopter moms' today.  For  the most part, though, the women who influenced me had their own interests which they pursued while , at the same time, providing  invaluable services to their families  There was something to be said for having them there.  Because they were home to prepare dinner, help us with our homework, make sure we weren't 'making whoopie' with the boy o' day while they were at work, we were, to some extent, a lot safer than kids are today.  I guarantee you that we were better nourished. They cooked real food for dinner, and there was no such thing as fast food.

 I think that, as a society, when we decided that women had to work outside the home in order to be validated, we made a huge misjudgment.  While a lot of women feel strong enough to define their own roles within their family, I guess I wish that all people, both men and women, felt able to make their own paths, be who they really want to be and let the rest of the  world just deal with it.    Myself, I had , for a while, the best of both worlds.  I was able to spend ten years at home with my kids before I went back to work, and I am thankful for that time.  Moving on.

Another thing so many of my aunts taught me was that a person should make the best of whatever situation in which she found herself.  That may have been a mantra that members of my entire family espoused, both men and women. One of my brothers says that the family motto should be 'Suck it Up, Stop Whining  and Get it Done'  I don't disagree with that.

At any rate, one of my Aunts, my Aunt Leona , elevated 'homemaking' into a high art form. That women could have  sent Martha Stewart home to contemplate her own inferiority.  When Onie did laundry, she would go to the basement and remain all day until it was done.  Oh my gosh!  She ironed her sheets!   Of course, as my Mother pointed out, she had no kids.  So,  she had time for that sort of thing. And, she could  have cooked rings around Paula Deen. Onie's bourbon balls were, quite simply, not to be believed.  I, at times, have wondered what ever happened to her cookbook.

All of that having been said, since I have been out here, I have found myself spending Thanksgiving all on my own. My friends who live at the school all go to their families, and  it's too short a holiday for me to drive to Oklahoma.  And, although I have been invited, a time or two, to accompany one of my friends to  family celebrations, I have chosen to remain at home.  Not that I would not prefer to be with family members, but I have come to treasure my peaceful and solitary holiday.  I fix only the foods I enjoy (the green bean casserole) and don't bother with the ones that others like, but I don't (sweet potatoes).  I watch a lot of television that I have DVR'd and not had time to watch, and if it's a nice day, I'll go out and take pictures. I give thanks for my loved ones and my life.    This year, I'll get caught up on the work I have due for my grad school class (the one my cousin, Jana, told me not to take).

Since being out here, one of the dishes that I have always prepared,  and this is why my Aunt Leona is on my mind today, is a turkey breast which I coat with peach preserves.  I can still hear  her, 'This is just the ticket ( to her, everything was just the ticket) for small families.  It's just enough for two or three people without all the mess of an entire turkey'  This year, as usual,  I set off to the grocery store to purchase a turkey breast. What I found was that the turkey breast was twenty dollars, but the entire turkey was less than sixteen dollars.  So, I bought the entire turkey, and I have to admit, I have enjoyed the dark meat and the home made giblet gravy.

 The question becomes what to do with the left over turkey once I get sick of it.  And this is where I realize that I am NOT that much like my aunt.  If I were Onie, I would cut that sucker up into little meal sized portions, break out the Seal a Meal and freeze them. Since I am Sally, I'll, probably, just feed the leftovers to the coyotes.

Happy  Thanksgiving, I love you all and hope that the upcoming year brings you all the best.

November 11, 2010

My mother passed away on November 11, 1996.  The fact that she died on Veterans' Day always seemed , to me, somewhat fitting.  My mother loved this country with every bone in her body.   During VietNam, when I would rant, she would listen, but say very little.  Years later, when she would concede that I may have had points to make during that conflict, she would always end the conversation with,'Yes, this country has problems, but there is no better country on the face of this planet, and you need to always remember that.'  The anniversary of a person's death is, in the Jewish tradition, a time for remembering them with a Yahrtzeit .  As I am not near a synagogue (if that's not the understatement of the year), I content myself with lighting a candle and remembering her.

Then, this afternoon I drove into Kayenta with the intention of picking up the supplies required to winterize my truck--antifreeze, oil, filters, etc.  I found the automobile parts store  to be closed for the Veterans' Day holiday. Now, Veterans' Day is observed back east with parades and color ceremonies, but  I would be hard put to think of a privately owned business that closes down on November 11.   I realized, and not for the first time since coming out here, how deeply patriotic the Navajo people are.  These  people, have stepped forward to defend this country in every armed insurrection since World War II. It's not that they don't recognize the faults that are present in our society.  They  will tell me to remove the feather decoration from my rear view mirror before I leave the Nation, because I may get harrassed by ignorant people who pass me and assume, from the decoration, that I am Navajo.  And yet, even given those sorts of issues,  these people, overwhelmingly,   love this country and honor it every chance they get.

It has brought to mind the current tendency of some people to determine who is and who is not a loyal American. There has been a lot of talk about  which political party, which religion, which race a person must be in order to be considered to be  a 'true' American. And, the point I want to make is that sort of thinking is just 'messed up' as my students say.    The Japanese Americans fought with honor during World War II.  The Navajo , as well as other Native Americans, have given their lives so that the rest of us can continue to live free. My family is chock full of men and women who have served this country, in the military and through their non-military service, and believe me, no one in my family--NO ONE-- fits any pre-determined mold anyone ever conceived.  Each and every one of us is a one and only.  But, each one is and was a patriotic and loyal American.  Americans come from all religions, all races, and we all have differing world views.  That's what makes this , as my Mom pointed out, the greatest country on the face of this planet.

In closing, Thank you to all people who have served this country, and Mother, I miss you.  

Today

In the course of this day, I fished two young men out of the boys' bathroom and  hauled them back to English Comp.  I walked into one class, caught one of my 'ducklings' napping , tapped him on his head, sent him to wash his face and threatened to kill him if he fell asleep again.  I tutored two young ladies in geometry, worked on an IEP and returned a basketball.  Throughout this entire day, I, also, kept my country offered up in prayer.   I prayed that my fellow citizens would vote from love  and not from fear and hate.  This country was founded on the principle of 'freedom and justice for all'  Please let it be so.

THE WEEK

The people who were born out here say it's going to be a really, really, and one more 'really' hard winter.  So, I spent the first part of the week  trying to figure out how much propane I will need to get through to December when the propane man comes back.  As I have never lived anyplace where I was heated with propane, this was a small problem.  I am glad I have brothers for many reasons, and this is yet another.  Tom told me how to read the dial so I knew how much I already had on hand, they both told me that one hundred gallons should do it, and when I told John I was going to buy a space heater, he said, 1. get two, and 2. get an electric blanket. I did both.

Then , I went out to read the propane tank and saw that , even with the aforementioned instructions,  I had mis-read it and had about two hundred more gallons more than I had thought.  So, I called the propane dealer and cancelled my order.  Guess what? They ran my card anyway and brought me one hundred more gallons!  I have , now, enough propane to get myself 'pretty near' all the way to spring.  My Grandad Baker used to say that:  'pretty near'  all the time.   Well, I'll be 'pretty near' warm enough, I'm guessing.   I'm also gonna be broke for about two weeks , because of all the winterization arrangements.  Watch.  Just Watch.  This will turn out to be the warmest winter on record, and I'll be sitting here absolutely awash in propane!

The week was tough, with the state mandated assessments, and the kids were really tired.  Heck, I was really tired, and we were all cranky.  Three times, I asked a young lady to quit bouncing her ball against the lockers outside my room.  Three times she ignored me. Fourth time, I owned the ball.  What messed it up for her was that  on the fourth request, she gave me the classic 'look of innocence' and replied, 'I am not bouncing the ball, I am rolling it.'

Bear in mind, the young lady had just sassed a woman who, a thousand years ago, had been sitting in an art class, visiting with her friend.  Miss Donovon said to me, 'Sally, stop talking to Paula.'  And I, replied, 'I am not talking to Paula. I am talking to myself, and Paula is listening.'  And darned if she didn't let me sit there.  And, I'm sorry, but long deceased though she may be, that woman was a dummy for letting me get away with that.  She should have snatched me up and marched me straight down to Mr. Cunningham's office. Truth be told, I did a bunch of shady stuff when I was a kid, but I always gave up that 'look of innocence'  and , most of the time, I got away with it. I had two teachers who would call me on that, Mrs. Donna Cullison and Mrs. Mamie Large.  They both saw straight through me and my act. But, I digress.

At any rate, the basketball bouncer had just crossed a woman who , not only knew every trick in the book, had  pretty much pulled every trick in the book.  And,  that woman , also, knows that if you want to survive as a teacher, you cannot allow a student to 'take you there' and must be prepared, once you start something to finish it.  Which is why, normally, I pick my battles.  On any other day, I would have let that bouncing basket ball just keep bouncing. Then, she would not have sassed me, and would , still, have her ball.  However, as I said, I was tired.  I will give it back to her tomorrow. If she begs.

So, here I sit, the weekend has sped by, but all in all, I'm good.  I got all of my assignments submitted for my NAU class.  I even got a chance to scare myself by watching 'House of Wax', and now, I am sitting here giving out candy to trick or treaters.  Halloween may be one of those times when I miss Philly. In Philadelphia, I taught in West Philly and lived in Mt Airy.  My students never, ever came to my neighborhood.  Therefore, I could walk down to the laundry room in my jammies (at least, I did that til I figured out the guy who lived across the hall from the laundry room was a 'chubby chaser' and was checking out my 'charms'). Also, I could hand out Halloween candy while dressed in my robe.  Here, all the students know me so I not only have to put on clothes and comb my hair, I have to wear a BRA!  Don't want to traumatize the little tikes.   Oh well, nothing is perfect.

Everyone have a nice week.  

Unlike Quilting and Gardening, Children are not a Spare Time Activity

Our family is quite diverse in terms of life styles, politics and religion.  Truth be told, we are composed of Democrats, Republicans, an outright Communist or two. Christians, Buddhists, Jews and Muslims, a few out and out atheists.   A Baker-Britton family reunion can  turn into a political brouhauha at the drop of an opinion.  We live and love to  'discuss'.  'Discuss' is the word my Grandmother Britton used to use when , over Sunday dinner, a good old fashioned throwdown would occur.  'They are not arguing, they are 'discussing.'  Sure sounded like an argument to me, but if Grandmother said something , you did not disagree.  'Discussions' they were. One big subject, when I was growing up, was whether Franklin Delano Roosevelt had been  the Messiah who had returned or the Anti Christ.

Different, though we are,there are  common threads that run through all of our lives.  We love our family, we love our country, and we love young people.  A love of kids and a desire to see them educated, self-sufficient and socially responsible adults runs  deeply  through both sides of my family.  My Grandmother Britton was a school teacher.  My very first Sunday School teacher  was my Grandmother Baker.

This is a tradition that continues in their descendants to this day.  Some of us are employed in the educational  field, but even those of us who are not in the education field choose to  spend their  'leisure' time in such activities as coaching, chaperoning, volunteering at the school.  We  were reared to understand that we owed a responsibility to the next generation,  

   If my mother had lived, she would have  been 92 years old last week.  Because it is her birthday week, she has seemed more close to me than normal, and believe me, she is never far away.  Mother had opinions, and she had no trouble voicing them.  If you saw 'Hello Dolly!' and remember that line where Dolly Levi says that her late husband said that money was like manure, it did no good unless it was spread around, then you know how my mother felt about her opinions.  In order for them to be of any use, whatsoever, it was necessary to spread them around.  I guess that's where I get it.

At any rate, my Mom,also, had a soft spot for kids, all kids.  By 'soft spot', I mean she enjoyed working with them, enjoyed guiding them. This woman was , by no means, soft on children. Good grief, no!   She  had firm ideas on how children  should be raised and educated. And, when I think about it, her ideas were  similar to those of my aunts and uncles.  Maybe, they couldn't agree on, well you know,  poor old FDR, but  all of them were pretty clear on how to appropriately parent.  As an adult, I have come to believe that, for the most part, they were  right on the money.  

I put out for you, a few of the Baker-Britton rules for rearing children.

1.  In the beginning, children should have very little, if any, say in how their lives should be run.  That is why the Good Lord gave them parents.  My mother thought that allowing a child to 'make his own decisions' before the child was  old enough to do so was just short of insanity. I was never real clear on when that magic number was, because when I would ask  her, she said 'it's different with everyone.  Some  people mature faster than others.'  I was pretty sure she thought I'd never be ready to make the jump.


 I can remember once when my sister and her friend, Susan, wanted to go to a party.  Trouble was, the party was on the same night as a MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship) function.  Mother told Libby she could make her own decision, and Libby decided to go to the party.  Then Mother told her no.  She and Susan would attend the MYF meeting.  Libby said, 'But you said we could make  our own  decisions..'  Mother responded, 'Yes, but you decided wrong.   So, I'm helping you  decide right."

2.  Children neither need nor benefit from  privacy.  Until I was in college, every phone conversation I  ever had was held in the kitchen.  That's where the one and only phone was.  Anything I said could be heard by anyone who wanted a cup of coffee or a glass of milk.  I had no concept of life being lived any other way. I was just thankful  we had a phone at all.

3.  There was no chance for the media to infuence us too much, because we had  not a scintilla of say-so as to programming. Daddy would come home, wash up, eat dinner and sit down in front of the television.  The only thing we did was get up and change the channel when he told us to do so.  To the channel he told us to change it to. It would never have occurred to him to ask us what we wanted to watch just as it would never have occurred to us to voice an opinion.

4.  If I had gone home and told my Mother that I was not going to do something in school, because I did not like the teacher,  I would not be sitting here talking about her.  I would, quite literally, BE with her.


My mother , my father and their sisters and brothers knew that rearing children was not a 'spare time' job.  They gave us time, they gave us guidance, and I know that all of their kids have done the same with their kids.   But, you know what they gave us the most ( and I've given this a lot of thought)?  They gave us the sense that they were sure of who they were, they were pretty sure about what was right and what was wrong , and they were not reticent about telling US what was right and what was wrong. Every last one of them was there for their kids.  They made sure we understood that they were there to protect us if we needed protecting.  They were there to rein us in if we needed that.  In short, they were THERE.  And , maybe that's what I see missing with so many young people today.  They are just not sure who will be there for them if the you know what hits the fan.  They have no one in their lives that they can depend on to keep the bad guys away from the door.  And that's just sad.  

  

This week

Well, as I mentioned on facebook, the good news is that there is a less invasive treatment available , at a fraction of the cost in terms of dollars and stress on my body.  The bad news is that the treatment is not covered by my  insurance company,   The treatment is an IUD, and the Pennsylvania Emplyees Benefits Trust, administered by Capital Blue Cross and Blue Shield does not cover contraceptives for any reason.   The other good news is that my pharmacy provider (NOT my benefits provider, please let's be clear) has a payment plan in order that I can get this treatment without having to resort to selling myself on the streets. 

One the one hand, I am ticked because I am not using this as a birth control method, but on the other, so what if I were?  Heaven forbid women 's health care plans should provide them with access to affordable birth control.  The people who make these decisions, apparently, don't want women to have access to birth control, don't want women to have access to safe, legal abortions, and dare I say, probably want us all to go home and be good little girls. I don't know, if I were of child bearing age and found myself with an unplanned pregnancy, I could stand to have an abortion. I don't think I could, but I have never been sexually abused and wound up pregnant, I have never been pregnant for the tenth time in eleven years, quite a lot of the things that have , unfortunately, happened to a great many women have never happened to me.  Therefore, I continue to believe that women are the best judges of what needs to happen in their lives.  Not legislators or insurance companies. 

On the other hand, as my friend, Marsha, pointed out, this is exactly what happens when you take the decision making process regarding health care issues out of the hands of the doctors, nurses and patients and place it into the hands of pencil pushing bureaucrats.  My cousin, Jana, sent me an e-mail regarding a newscast she saw in which this treatment is being hailed as a tremendous breakthrough in pre-cancerous and some early stage cancerous conditions.  It's  a thousand dollars as opposed to a hysterectomy which would  run, I expect , into  the tens of thousands. It's less stress on a woman's body and for a woman who is still of child bearing age, this treatment  holds out the promise of continued fertility.  But, no, we might go hog wild and start having S-E-X without benefit of governmental approval, and Heaven knows, we don't want that!  

Oh well, whatever..... as I pointed out before, there is a treatment, there is a way I can afford it, and I am thankful  and consider myself damned lucky for both reasons.  Besides, if nothing else, this little wake up call has started me, at long last, on the road to losing weight.  And I'm feeling better every day for that.  I don't have a clue how much weight I've lost, because I quit weighing.  For years, every time I started a diet,  I would weigh every night , and if I gained I'd get depressed, feel bad, then eat.  Now, I just do what I know needs to be done and figure it'll all work out eventually. 

Giving Thanks

It's been a tough, annoying couple of days.  What with the insurance company being , well, an insurance company, and all, I have allowed myself to become 'exercised' , as one of my grandparents used to say.  And, forgive me, I cannot remember which grandparent, or possibly, which great aunt or uncle said that.  However, one thing I have learned over the past few months and years:  If I can begin the day feeling thankful for one, just even one thing, the entire day seems to go better.  So,  here are the things I am grateful for this morning.

1. The cells are pre-cancerous, and there IS a treatment which is very effective. 
2. There IS a payment plan.
3. There is a little red-headed girl in Pittsburgh who has two brothers and a cousin, and they really, really, really love me (to quote the little red-headed girl)

The Steak Salad was a SALAD!

These are the two big things on my mind right now.  One is sort of important, the other , not even slightly. 

First, there are steak salads, and there are STEAK SALADS, in the Pittsburgh sense.  A Pittsburgh steak salad has the following ingredients:  pieces of char-broiled steak, a few odd pieces of lettuce and a couple of tomatoes (put there so a person can, semi-legitimately, refer to the dish as a salad, I suppose) , a huge pile of cheese and an equally huge pile of french fries.  The entire thing is drenched with a choice of salad dressing(I prefer ranch, lots and lots of ranch).  The thing, appropriately prepared, has  thousands upon thousands of calories and a week's worth of sodium. 

Follow me here.....One of the teachers with whom I am now working  has been asking me to go places with her, and I've been so busy, and, quite frankly, turned in on myself to the point that I was not in the mood to exert the effort that making a new friend always requires.  Therefore, I have been making excuses (actually, they weren't excuses in the strictest sense of the word.  I HAVE been busy)  At any rate, yesterday I asked her if she wanted to drive into town after school and have dinner.  I felt sort of bad for not being more open.  So, we drove into town and went to a place where I had never been.  On the menu was a steak salad!!!!!

Thrilled!  Oh my gosh,  I was thrilled.   Having been eating healthfully for the entire week, I was looking forward to this splurge.  The steak salad arrived, and sunufagun!, if it wasn't a salad!!!!!  It had steak, for sure.  It also had lots and lots of different types of lettuce, tomatoes, red onion, cucumbers, tender little asparagus spears  and a tasty vinagarette dressing.    What it did NOT have was french fries and cheese.  OK, the salad as it was served wasn't bad, pretty good, actually.  However, if one has been anticipating an artery clogging, diet busting, Pittsburgh steak salad, one was in for a disappointment.  This 'one' was definitely disappointed.  No question. 

I had to console myself with an order of fry bread.  Then, back on the wagon.

The second thing I have been thinking about is this...All of my adult life, I have been working in environments where I am in the, racially speaking, minority. It wasn't planned, it's just the way the thing worked out.  Why haven't people picked on me in the same way, if my Caucasian associates  are to be believed, they are picked on????  I can't tell you how many times someone has said to me, 'Well, THEY (insert your own minority here), didn't like me, because I was White.'  And, truth be told, I can count on one hand, and have a finger or two left over, the times I have been treated differently due to my race.  Yes, I have had disagreements with people..  I have even lost my temper to such a point that I have invited the other person out to the parking lot to settle an issue. ( As I have aged, I've done that less and less.  For one thing, I've calmed down.  For another, my body can't back up my mouth, anymore)   But, it was never race related, I felt.  So, is it because I am deluded?  Am I not perceptive?  No and No. I am extremely perceptive, and the last time I was deluded involved my ex, and we won't go there. 

This is what I have decided:  The others, who report being picked on because of race, aren't being  picked on either.   I think this has to do with what Michael Moore refers to as a paranoic condition  of   many White people.  These are the truly deluded people. Everytime someone has an issue with them, they interpret is as race related.  I figured this out, I think, when I realized that the people who report that they are not liked because of their race are  people that I don't , particularly, care for either.  I don't  dislike them, because they are  White. I'm white.  No,   I dislike them, because they are  idiots! 

Well, now that I've figured this out, I will get back to the work I have to do for this course that my cousin, Jana, advised me not to take.  I should have listened. 

Here's the Scoop, Alley Oop!

For some reason, when I taught kids in Philadelphia, if I would start out a lesson by saying, 'Here's the scoop, Alley Oop!' , it would crack them up.  They'd laugh as though I were the funniest person in the world.  Probably, that's why I enjoy teaching.  It gives me a chance to act up in front of people without being locked up. 

My Grandmother Britton used to say that I was 'acting a fool.'  'Sally, why must you act a fool?  You're perfectly intelligent, but people would never guess it." Of course, this was also the woman who, whenever anything broke in her house,  would insist that I call one of my brothers to come and fix it.  'Don't touch it, Sally.  You'll only mess it up."  Perfectly intelligent, but not intelligent enough to be useful.   I will never forget the day her reading light would not turn on.  I was getting ready to go take a look, and she said, 'No, call Johnny."  Johnny rode over on his ten speed, parked, walked into the house, bent down and plugged the light into the outlet.  He , then, got on his bike and peddled back to my Uncle's feed store where he worked.

Of course, she liked it when , while taking her to her Ahtleoka club meetings, I would drive too fast,  and she never told Daddy on me when I ran red lights.  Once, I was stopped at a stop sign, and asked her if anyone was coming on her side.  She said, 'No.' I started through the intersection, and once I was smack in the middle of the road, she said, 'If you go like hell, you can make it!'  It would appear that I inherited my ability to act a fool from her.  But,  I'm wandering off the subject.  Here, indeed, is the scoop.

Yesterday, I got up early and prepared for the drive to Albuquerque.  The sky was that gorgeous blue, and I could smell the early morning aroma of sage and pine.  The clouds were so billowy and white thay looked fake.  I was reminded that one of my co-workers believes that when clouds are like that, they are artificially induced......by aliens in UFOs so they can navigate over our planet without us knowing it. Since I moved out here,  I have seen enough odd things in the night sky that I could, almost, believe that.  Except what on earth would they want with us?  If they're smart enough to get here, why would they want to make the trip? 

So, I'm driving up the road from Ganado towards Window Rock, and I saw on one side of the road, an entire herd of sheep.  They were heading towards the road in a fast run.  Their owner/shepherd was running behind them, but the sheep, quite clearly, had had a good head start.  No way was he catching them without a struggle. The ram who was in the lead  was running like mad towards the road.  I was positive that, if I listened, I would hear him yelling, "Run free, run far, my brothers and sisters!'  Now, of course, I had spent Sunday watching 'Men Who Stare at Goats,'  and I was probably still under the influence of George Clooney (and hasn't he grown into a terrific little hunk?), but in my heart, I cheered them on.  They got across the road without losing so much as a tuft of wool, and off they went.  I hope they found their Utopia..

Got to Albuquerque, found Presby Hospital, found the surgeon who, believe it or not, doesn't want to do surgery!  At least, not right now.  She says there is a treatment which involves inserting an IUD with progesterone into the uterus.  In a good percentage of cases, just doing this causes the pre-cancerous cells to decrease.  She wants to put this thing in and go back and check in ninety days. She says that she's seen lots of cases that will reverse themselves with this treatment alone, some that don't change at all and will , still, require surgery, but no one has ever tried this treatment and had the condition worsen.  I figure ninety days will buy me time to lose more weight and, also, that brings us to Christmas.  If I have to still get the operation, I will have the entire Christmas break to heal which, when added to my sick leave would be a huge load off my mind.  Of course, as my doctor said to me, 'Sally, the graveyards are full of people who didn't want to take off work,' and if the surgery were required, I would darn sure get it  Still, it's heartening that I won't have to take time off a brand new job. 

I didn't get home until after ten,  eleven in Oklahoma, twelve in Pittsburgh which is why, I did not call any of the people I promised I would call, 'no matter how late it is.' I'm sorry, and I love you all, and I hate that I have worried you. 

My Ah-ha moment

I just had a 'pro-found' moment. Of course,everyone else probably figured it out ages ago, but I've been busy, and I'm not particularly a quick study anyway.  During the last election, the radical right fringe and their media slaves made  same sex marriages the 'hot button'  issue.  People let themselves get worked into such a frenzy over whether or not gay people should be allowed to marry that they failed to notice those bankers and mortgage people slipping out of town with their pockets lined with stolen money.

Moving on.....At any rate,  there is good evidence that we are pulling out of the recession.  Slowly, to be sure, but still pulling out.  Nonetheless, we are still bombarded with 'information' that says, no, we're heading for Armageddon. But, that's not , really, what is bothering  me today. I have come to believe that people need to learn to evaluate their sources, decide who they choose to trust and make decisions based on that.  That's why this is a free country. Each and every one of us gets to pick our world view.

No, what is of concern to me today is the fact that the mis-information industry has  decided to use the religion of Islam as this year's 'hot button' issue.  In order to keep us from remembering that this recession ,  is, not only  slowly resolving itself but was straight up caused by the Republicans who had control of the government for eight years,  we are being slammed with the 'Evil Islamic Conspiracy'.  Some knothead in Florida decides to burn a Koran, and it's world wide news.  Some people decide to build a community center within a few blocks of Ground Zero , and it's a big hot deal. I can't help thinking this is just another 'faux' issue.  A sort of 'look over there so you don't look over here' kind of a thing.

Regarding this, I have these observations to make:

1.  Have any of these people  even read the Koran? Portions of it are , virtually, word for word the same as from the Old Testament.  And, just for the record, there's nothing much in the Koran about the attitude of men towards women.  All that is the product of the Muslim radical fringe who want to keep women 'in their place'  Much as some Christians interpret the Bible to suit themselves  as some Jews interpret the Torah to suit themselves, some Muslims have done the same.  Religion is, after all, all in the interpretation.  God of Love?  God of Retribution?  All in the interpretation. 

2.  A few blocks from Ground Zero?  Manhattan island is barely 22 sq miles in land area.  EVERYTHING is only a few blocks from everything else.  In a couple of hours, it is possible to walk from one end to the other!  So, now, only Christians can build structures in NYC?  I'm sure the Jews will be pleased to hear that. And by the way, it was Jews who helped the Moslems prepare their proposal.

3.  Lest we forget, the towers were blown up by Saudis, friends of the Bushes, NOT Iraquis, NOT Afghanis.  And, most assuredly, NOT by the entire Muslim world.  And are they even looking for Ben Laden, at this point?  Were they EVER looking for him?  How hard is it to find a six foot eight inch Saudi with an oxygen tank strapped to his waist?  Dare we ask if they even WANT to find him?  At any rate,  the Mirrah building was not blown up by the entire Christian world. It was blown up by a small cadre of survivalists who had convinced themselves the the United States government was evil, and the way to address the problem was to blow up a building full of working people and a day care center full of children.   Every religion has its idiots. 

4.  The fact that this is being discussed is, I fear, a distraction tactic in order to keep us from asking the hard questions, to keep us from noticing that rich are still getting richer.  Could it be that they don't want us to notice they are trying like you know what to keep that huge tax cut the Bush Administration gave them? Also, if this 'Islamic issue' is in the news, it also gives the  'birthers' an opportunity to keep putting out the fiction that the President is a foreign born Moslem (I guess they don't remember all the 'issues' with the CHRISTIAN minister of the church where President and Mrs. Obama worshipped for years)  

This country was founded on freedom of religion. It is not my place, it is not anyone's place to determine what religion is suitable.And, while, normally, I choose to just walk away when people start talking stupid (at least, that's the tactic I take as I age) , the fact that this is starting to be a problem for children is a concern to me.  I was watching the news this morning and a young Moslem boy, born in this country to parents who have lived here for twenty years, was being interviewed and he spoke  of being afraid to attend school anymore.

I have dedicated my life to the betterment of the lives of children.  Bullying is a huge problem in this country.  It should be horrifying to everyone that there are children who are so frightened of going to school that they choose to end their lives rather than to attend.  It is inexcusable for anyone to verbally or physically abuse a child, and frankly, I don't care if the offender is an adult or a child.  I don't give a rip if the child is a Moslem or  a Hasidic Jew.  He or she should be able to go to school and feel safe and secure. That also goes for all the other 'reasons' kids get picked on, as far as I'm concerned. Too fat, too skinny, dressed in clothes that are not 'stylish' enough, a child who is experiencing gender conflicts.  These are all God's children and should be protected by all of us. 

In closing, I findly it oddly comforting that, as I prepare to schedule my surgery, that my gynecologist is Iranian, and my surgeon is Jewish.  Cooperation around my hoo-hoo. Can world peace be far behind? 

SUNSET OVER VERDIGRIS BEND CHAPTER 6-8

                                                        CHAPTER SIX

        Although the houses were, technically, next door to each other, it was impossible to see from one to the other.  Just as the back lots were separated by Grandpa’s fruit orchard, the front lots were kept apart by Caleb Brown’s evergreen trees.  Libba parked her car in her own drive and walked over.  As she turned the curve in the drive and the house came into view, she paused in surprise.  While the house, at one time, had been the showplace of Verdigris Bend, it had, during the latter part of Caleb’s life, fallen into disrepair.  Becoming obsessed with the thought of keeping his fortune  intact, Caleb had begrudged even the most basic of maintenance expenditures.

    Now, it looked as if Ardis had completely rebuilt the place.  Not only had she restored it to its former glory, she had added a greenhouse along the west  wall.  All in all,  the house looked stupendous.  Apparently, Ardis had avoided her father's fate of being determined to take it with her. From the looks of things, Libba just hoped the old woman had saved enough to get there.

    The door was answered before the bell quit ringing.  Miss Ardis stood before her in a royal blue dressing gown. If Caleb were not already dead,  knowing the cost of that dressing gown would , without a doubt , have killed him. 

    “Elizabeth, good evening. I had about given up on you.”   

    “I’m sorry, Miss Ardis.  The time just got away from me.”

    “Well, you’re here now.  It must be a treat for you to be able to have dinner with your family”

    She shut the door and led the way into the living room.

    The living room and the adjacent dining room  had been redone from the ceiling to the floor.   Gone were the Victorian pieces brought from the east.  They had been replaced with white carpet, glass tables, and chrome chairs.  The dining room table was one of those white lacquer, straight-legged jobs.  The  chairs, there were six of them, were painted each a different color.  Every one was brighter and  more florescent than the last.

     The room just kept coming at her. The gorgeous mahogany woodwork had been painted bright green.  In another house, the green woodwork would have contrasted nicely  with the white everything else. In this Victorian structure, with the high ceilings and leaded windows, the effect bordered on ludicrous.

    “How do you like it?”  Miss Ardis had noticed Libba’s gaze.  “I had a decorator out from Tulsa.”

    Get your money back, woman.  The guy’s taste was all in his mouth, and you have been had.

    “It cost me an arm and a leg, and  I hate it   I so very much needed a lift when Father died that I am afraid I threw the baby out with the bath.   It's horrendous , isn't it?

    “It’s......just such a.....a change,” Virginia Jeffrey’s daughter, polite  to the very end, seated herself in an intensely uncomfortable Director’s chair, chrome frame, leather  strapping.

    “You have always been a honest girl, Elizabeth.  This is no time to change.  I'm going to get it all re-done, but I have to figure out what I want, something between Father's taste and this disaster.   Give thanks to God, Libba, that you are not doomed to get to be sixty years old  and suddenly realize that you have no idea of what your own personal tastes are, from clothing to furniture, I didn't have a clue..  And, now, though Father has been gone for some years,  I still do not know what I want to do with the place.    Wold you like a cup of tea?”

    “Yes, ma'am, but on that line, you definitely got it right with that dressing gown.  It is absolutely gorgeous.” 

    Flushing with pleasure at the compliment, Miss Ardis handed Libba a cup of tea, a mug really.  The sort that didn't come with  a  saucer.  Lord, she had even tossed the Wedgewood. 

    “Well, Elizabeth, how has your job been?  I know the first of the year can be trying, getting a new class accustomed to your methods.  Especially today, when the little dears question every little instruction.  I’m honestly so glad to be retired.  I’m afraid that today’s children would give me fits.”

    Somehow it was difficult to see any child being presumptions enough to even attempt to give Miss Ardis fits.  Even  in this chrome living room, she was a person with whom one would not like to reckon.  Sitting in the companion chair to Libba’s own, her back was straight, not touching the chair, just as she had, no doubt, been taught as a girl.  Her chin was held high, and her eyes were still alert.  Libba began to wonder when she was going to get to the reason for the summons.

    “I was pleased  that you decided to move into your grandparents’ house, Libba.  I know it’s  secluded.  However,  since you’re only filling in for Barbara’s maternity leave, it makes sense. You are well past  the age of a young girl, and although your parents are lovely people, a woman should have her own living quarters.  You were wise not to move in with them.”

    To Libba, it appeared as the old girl had visibly shuddered.  “Have you thought past this year as to your plans?”

    “Well, I don’t know if you know or not, but in Pittsburgh I was co-owner of a moderately successful educational counseling and tutoring business.  We assessed the learning problems of children and instituted strategies  which enabled them to keep up in their classes. 

    “Also, we were beginning to branch out into the field of matching high school seniors with colleges that met their needs.  Of course, I don’t know if there’s a market for such a business here.  When I started,  there were very few others in that field, Now,  there are several national firms which are quite well known, and I’m not sure that I could make a success of an independent firm,  again.  Also, I’m just not sure whether I would want to bother, at this point.  I did make a little money when I sold out to my partner, and I've considered the possibility of applying to the doctoral program at Tulsa University.    So, to answer your question, no.  I haven’t really thought past this year.”

    “Good straightforward answer.  Of course, you haven’t.  The past year must have been very difficult for you, and I won’t embarrass you by unseemly questions.   Let’s just say that I extend you my sympathy.  Many men, I am afraid, do not appreciate the women in their lives sufficiently.”

    Miss Ardis came to the point.  “Libba, I found Robert Carmichael’s visit  more than a little disturbing,” she sighed and continued, “As I said, this morning, I remembered how fond you were of Emily, and I thought you might be a person to whom I could talk.”

    “Well of course, Miss Ardis.  How can I help you?”

    “My dear, everyone over the years has just assumed that I heard from Emily periodically.  I let them think that, because the truth was too embarrassing.  I felt humiliated, to an extent, that Emily had left that day without so much as a note of good-bye.  After all, I had been instrumental in getting her a job at the school, took her into our home, made sure she had every comfort.

    Of course, Father had insisted on completely redecorating the third floor for her.  He even installed a private bath up there.“ The bitterness was palpable.  “He was not that generous when it came to me. Oh no.  He insisted that I turn over all of  my earnings to him to be managed, and then begrudged me so much as a hair appointment. He wouldn’t even consider getting domestic help when I was working.” 

    Libba was trying to think of something appropriately sympathetic when the old woman continued, “At any rate, I allowed people to believe that Emily corresponded with me from time to time, because it was easier than having to explain why the girl would simply walk out on a classroom full of children and disappear off the face of the earth.  The truth, Libba, is that no one in my family, not my father, not Anthea, no one has heard a single word from or about Emily from that day to this.”

    “I’m sure that it was very difficult for all of you, Miss Ardis.”

    “It broke my father’s heart.  He was never the same from that day until he died ten years ago.  He adored the girl.  I think he loved her so much because she reminded him of Anthea when she was young, so spirited and rebellions.  No doubt, he felt guilty about the manner in which he treated Anthea when she married”  Again, the bitterness.  “My sister is in a rest home, now, completely senile.  They tell me she asks for Emily every morning upon awakening.  Still expects her to show up.

    “We thought, at first, that her artist boyfriend was involved, but he graduated that month and  moved into Tulsa. He owns a very prosperous art gallery there.  Specializes in Southwestern art.  Does very well, as I understand it.  As far as anyone knows, he hasn’t heard from her either.  But, now., this.   Robert thinks that Emily may be...may be....”  She didn’t seem to be able to get the words out.

    “Miss Ardis, Bobby’s only speculating.  That skeleton could belong to someone not even from around here.”

    “No, at first I couldn’t believe it, but I’ve been thinking about it all day.  I, now, believe that the skeleton they found in the basement of the Old Red Building belongs to Emily.  It makes more sense than her dropping out of sight the way we thought she had.   I may not have ever been out of Verdigris Bend much, but I do try and keep up with things.  With all the photo documentation required today, it's hard to see how she could have stayed missing for so long.  Did she never file taxes, take a trip that required a photographic identification?

     No, this explains it all.,  why she never sent for her clothes, why she never turned up when my father died.  Especially considering how his will was written.”

    “Excuse me, Miss Ardis, what do you mean considering how the will was written?”

    “The will stated that, should Emily resurface , she would have received a full third of my father’s property.   That included his bank accounts, this property and some property that he owned in Chicago.  It wasn’t enough that she be given a smaller amount more suitable to a grandchild.  No, she would have shared in the estate equally with my sister and myself. And, even though the attorneys did quite a thorough search for her, she was never located. 

    “And now, having acknowledged that I was not as enthralled with Emily as was my father, it has to be said that, if some madman killed her and stuffed her into that boiler, denying her a Christian burial, denying my sister a chance to grow old  with a daughter at her side, then I want to know who this person is.   I want this person brought to justice.”

    Miss Ardis stood up, walked to the  window and looked out at the orchard.  “I was very pleased that you pruned and cleaned up the orchard.  Your grandfather took great pride in his fruit trees, and I must say that they were getting to be rather an eyesore.”

    I understand your pain and your anger, Miss Ardis.  I just wish I could do more than merely listen.”

    The old woman was still for such a long time that Libba was beginning to think she had not heard.  When she finally did speak, there was no anger in her voice, no bitterness, nothing.  Her tone was wooden, as if all feeling were gone. 

    “There are some things that Emily left in her room that might be of help in finding her killer.  I don’t know.  I haven’t really looked that closely.  The thing is, I would like for you to look through them and see if you think any of it can help Robert,”
    In answer to the question in Libba’s eyes, Miss Ardis continued, “I didn’t give them to him , because some of them are personal.  I hate the thought of him and that deputy of his, pawing through her things if there is no reason.  If, after you go through them, you think any of it is pertinent, then give them to Robert.”

    Libba reached out and touched the blue gowned arm.  It felt incredibly delicate yet, strong, agile.  “Don’t worry, Miss Ardis.  I’ll go through them for you and give whatever seems relevant to Bobby.  Also, I’ll make sure he puts a muzzle on Josh.  I was a year ahead of Josh in school.  I know what a blabber mouth he can be.”

    “Yes, I expect that you do.  Wasn’t it Josh who told Mr. Porter that it was you and Merideth who toilet papered his house that Halloween?”

    “Yes, ma’am.  And while Merideth appears to have forgiven him, I don’t think I ever will.”

    Samuel Porter had been the principal before Chuck McNulty landed the job.  Mr. Porter  had been as button down as Chuck was ‘laid back’.  That Halloween night, she and Meri , tipsy from the beer they had stolen from Daddy’s  truck, had papered Mr. Porter’s house, Mr. Porter’s trees, Mr. Porter’s car.  It had been such a kick.  Until two o’clock the next afternoon when they had been called into a furious Mr. Porter’s office.

    Joshie Banks had been walking down the street just as they ran out of the yard, and he had busted his little ass getting to Mr. Porter in order to tell.  The little tattletale.

    Miss Ardis interrupted her reminisces.  “Libba, dear.  Would you like to go with me up to Emily’s room, or would you prefer to stay down here while I get the things?”

    Partly because she wanted to see Emily’s room, but mostly because she didn’t want to be left alone in the Victorian chrome living room, Libba replied, “I’ll go up with you if you don’t mind.”

    Following Miss Ardis she began to ascend the staircase.  They got to the door leading up to he third floor in record time.  Miss Ardis had no problem climbing the steep old stairs.  Opening the door, Libba could see that here the decorator hadn’t gotten.  The staircase remained  the burnished dark wood that the downstairs woodwork had been.  Here, you could still smell the faintest scent of oil soap

    Miss Ardis threw the door of Emily’s bedroom open and stepped back for Libba  to enter. In the room, it was still nineteen eighty three.  The walls had been papered in a tiny flowered print, apparently Miss Ardis’ or Caleb’s idea of a suitable pattern for a young woman.  The dainty paper had been completely covered with posters of abstract art, handwritten poems that didn’t rhyme and some of Emily’s own original paintings.  There was a bulletin board plastered with  Black Sabbath posters.  The chintz bedspread had been covered with a fake fur throw.  Lying in the middle of the bed was book of poems written by Kahlil Gibran Alongside the book  of poems was a Cabage Patch Doll. A very young woman, indeed.  It seemed so incongruent, somehow. 

    Libba had looked up to Emily as the more experienced, the more wordly.  Now, standing here, herself looking forty years old straight in the eye, realizing this poor girl never got to grow, change , become whatever she could have been if she had  been given the time.

    The women separated.  Miss Ardis went into the bathroom, apparently to get  Emily’s box of momentos.  Libba walked over to the window and looked over the tops of the fruit trees and down at her Grandparents’ house. From her house, it was impossible to see the Brown house.  She hadn’t realized that, from the vantage point of this third floor window,  she could look right  into the windows of the other house.

    “Here, Libba, ” Libba found herself holding a small wooden box. It was a cheap pine box which had been stained a dark color.  Millions of them must have been sold at gift stores throughout the country.   It contained what appeared to be a diary, a few pairs of pierced earrings, a  Don't Let the ERA die button,  some art show programs from Northern Oklahoma University, some ticket stubs that looked to be from a baseball game.  It also included what, no doubt, had been the source of Miss Ardis’ embarrassment: Emily’s birth control pills.

    “Miss Ardis, I give you my word.  I’ll make sure this stuff is appropriately treated.”

    They went back downstairs without speaking.

    Libba didn’t go back into the living room, just stopped at the bottom of the stairs, right at the front door.  The old lady beside her seemed to have aged in the trip down the stairs.  Her face had withered, and her eyes looked glazed.

    “Miss Ardis, thank you for the coffee.  If you like, I’ll call you before I give anything to Bobby.”

    “What,” the old lady hadn’t even been listening, “Oh, yes, Libba, dear.  That won’t be necessary.  Use your judgment.  And, thank you for coming by.  I can’t tell you what a load off my mind this is.”

    Looking as if her mind were far from unloaded, she opened the door, and Libba found herself standing on the front porch facing a closed door.

    Letting herself into the house with the key and without bothering to turn on the lights, she went straight up to the bedroom where she placed the little box on the highboy. She’s call Bobby tomorrow and let him know she had it.

    As she undressed, she couldn’t stop thinking of Emily, the renegade art teacher.  She  had never belonged in Verdigris Bend and  really should have remained in Chicago.

    However, Emily Fornier  had taken notice of a fifteen  year old kid who had, at that time in her life, felt as if she didn’t belong in Verdigris Bend either.  Emily had made that girl her ‘aide’, had allowed her to try her own black eyeliner and blue eye shadow. Emily had not deserved to have been knocked in the head, stuffed into a boiler and left to die.

    What a night.  Ardis, on the one hand  had lived a life so limited by her father that she had spent a considerale amount of time, energy and money ripping every single memory of him out of her home.  Had, indeed, lived a life so limited that she hadn't even known what sort of furniture she preferred.Emily, who had been strong enough to attempt, at least, to live a life on her own terms, may very well have had it snatched from her before she even got started. 

    She pulled the quilt back and got into bed.  As she drifted off to sleep, her last conscious thought was that, in some way,  Libba Jeffreys Cohen, would hunt  down and bring to justice the garbage heap who had killed Emily.  Had she been so inclined as to wonder how Police Chief Robert Carmichael would feel about her help, she couldn’t have.  She was already  asleep.





                                                                CHAPTER SEVEN
    “Morning, Libba.  How was your weekend?”  Nadine Graham was walking up the stairs with a cup of coffee.

    “Quiet.  Worked around the house, went to church, had lunch with my folks.  You?”

    “Quiet, as well. Gary and I have a cabin over on Lake Fort Gibson.  My son, Jacob, brought our granddaughter, Becky, down on Saturday, and that was fun.  We spent most of the weekend getting the cabin winterized.”

    How is your husband?  You and he have been married a while, haven’t you?”

    “Thirty  years this past May. It’s hard to believe considering no one in town gave us six months at the start.”

    “Isn’t he a carpenter or something?”

    “Or something. Gary is a makes custom made  furniture. He specializes in hand-made furniture from high grade woods, and he does fabulous work.  You should see it sometime.  A noble calling, perhaps, but not one to have if you ever expect to make real money.

    “All in all, I can’t complain.  He always has enough orders to keep afloat, and by working for himself, he can keep his own hours.  Gary  stayed home when Brian was little, and I was able to keep my teaching job.  The entire town just stood around and waited for our marriage to fall apart; all because we had the audacity to tinker with the roles and job assignments of marriage partners.”

    While talking, they had ascended the stairs to the third floor  where both the fifth and sixth grade classes were located.  Nadine unlocked her door ,

    “Nadine?”

    “Yeah?”

    “I was just wondering if you were here when the body was discovered.”

    “I was in the school office turning in my lesson plans when Chief Carmichael came in.  He walked straight into Chuck’s office and shut the door.  They were in there for about ten minutes, and when they came out, Chuck didn’t say too much. Right hand up to God, Libba, he was speechless.  I never thought I would live to see the day when Chuck McNulty had nothing to say.  He walked out of his office and into the hall where he began to direct the children out the back door.  Once that was done, he went  back into his office and shut the door.  Said absolutely nothing to us.

    “Anyway, Josh Banks came in a few minutes later and told  us all what had happened.”

    “Figures,:  at Nadine's quizzical look, “He was a year behind  me in school.  I didn't like him as a kid, and I don't expect I'll like him anymore now that we're adults.”

    “Well, that’s about all I know.  Here come our darlings.  Talk to you, later.”

    “Yeah, later.  Daniel Gordon, I’m warning you.  Keep your hands to yourself, or I am calling your mother.”

    The morning went reasonably well and without incident.  Over the weekend a front had gone through, causing the temperatures to drop into a more comfortable range.  Consequently, it was less difficult to keep her students’ attention.  It  felt like minutes had passed when she realized that it was time for lunch. 

    After leaving the children in the hands of the lunch ladies, she walked out the side door with the intention of eating her yogurt in the park.  With a shock, she realized she was standing right at the construction site, now sitting idle. It looked as if the police had finished their investigations, but the site was still surrounded with yellow crime tape.   She paused and looked down.

    “Deep, huh?”

    Beside her stood Keith Gooden, the current gym teacher.  Although she knew who he was, there had been no opportunity for them to become more than marginally acquainted.  Looking at him, now, she had to admit she was impressed. While Chuck McNulty still wore gym whites after fifteen years as school principal, Keith  could barely abide them long enough to teach his classes.  A tall dark skinned African American man, he was wearing tweed pants, a shirt that looked custom-made, and a wool cardigan.

    Since he demonstrated such care with his appearance and couldn’t be more than twenty-five years old, the small bald spot that was beginning to appear on the top of his head must have been a source of concern to him.

    “Yes, and the hole goes pretty far down, too.”

    “Quite an introduction to our little town for you, I guess.”

    “Well, it’s not really an introduction.  I grew up in this town, left and came back.  I have to say, though,  that I don’t remember you.”

    “That’s because I am not from around here.  Originally, I’m  from Oklahoma City.  I got my physical education degree at Oklahoma City University and played one season with the Philadelphia Seventy-Sixers.   I  took a fall on the court that messed up my knee  in a major way.  End of career.   When I got over being pissed off, I realized I should be grateful to the people who insisted that I pick up a teaching certificate when I was an undergraduate.”

    “Oh, what a rough break.  The Sixers, eh?  I’ve lived the last twenty-five years in Pittsburgh.  The Sixers have had a pretty good team lately.  I’m really sorry .”

    “Don’t be.  Things happen, and to tell you the truth, I’ve adjusted.  In fact, with the exception of the fabulous money and fine women, I don’t miss it.  The life is a lot of pressure, and if you’re not performing, you’re a bum. Here, in the classroom, my kids like me whether my jump shot is cooking or not.  There’s a lot to be said for the undying adoration of ten year olds.

    “But, enough about me. Since you’re from here, do you have any ideas about our mystery?”

    “Oh, I’ve got a few, but I don’t even want to think about them right now.  Listen, It’s been good talking to you, and I hope we get a chance to talk again, but right now, I want to get over to the park and eat my yogurt before my lunch break is over.”

    “Sure, Enjoy your lunch, and yeah, we’ll talk again.”

    Cyclone Park  was nearly deserted.  Having her pick of the half a dozen picnic tables that were spread over the small park, she selected one that was turned away from the highway.

    “Where are your students, teacher?” Bobby was unwrapping a pack of tobacco.

    “Eating their lunch, just like I’m trying to do. Have a seat.  Want a taste of my yogurt?  And, don't you hit that tobacco pouch a lot.  Ever heard of mouth and throat cancer, bubba”

    “Believe it or not, I had just about quit.  Down to one hit in the evening after work.  And then, well, then this.”  He gestured back over to the school.  “As far as yogurt, I’ve never understood how anyone can tolerate  that stuff.  And yet, a lot of people must like it.  Meri and Joe have an entire dairy case full of nothing but yogurt in all of its forms and flavors. Knock your self out.  The stuff makes me gag.”

    “Oh thanks, nice thought.  Whatever.  What’s up?”

    “I assume you’re not inquiring about my general health and well-being?”

    “Correctamundo, Bubba.  Have you made any progress in determining the identity of the corpse?”

    “The medical examiner is trying to make contact with someone in Chicago who would have access to Emily’s dental records.  Her mother is still alive, but completely senile.  Of course, if it comes down to it, I could ask Miss Ardis to give some DNA, but I keep thinking I won’t have to go  that far.”

    “As for Pearl and Nancy, it didn’t take me long to find out your mother is, probably, right.  There is a Nancy Watkins on staff at St. Anthony’s Hospital in Oklahoma City.  I thought about asking the Oklahoma City Police Department to talk to her and save me the trip, but I think I’ll make a drive over there myself.  I was just leaving, as a matter of fact, when I saw you eating lunch.”

    “Are you going to spend the night over there?”

    “I wasn’t planning on it.  It’s twelve fifteen now.  I can be in Oklahoma City a little after two.  According to the personnel department at the hospital, Nancy works the three to eleven shift.  I can talk to her, find out where her mother is, and then talk to Mama.  I should be wrapped up and headed back here by seven or eight tonight, the absolute latest.  Which puts me in here around bedtime.  Why?  You worried about me?”

    “Now, now, don’t get all full of yourself, Bubba.  I was just making conversation, nothing else.”  Libba tilted her chin and smiled, “But, just on general principal, wear your seat belt.  OK?  I’d hate to see anything happen to you, after all.”

    “Oh yeah, well I’ll keep that in mind.”

    “Twelve–fifteen? Did you say twelve-fifteen?   Nuts!  I’ve got to go.  Recess is over at twelve twenty.  If I’m not there to pick up my kids at the playground door, I’ll be on Chuck’s bad list.  Catch you later.  No kidding, drive safely.  Still planning on being at the church supper, tomorrow night?”

    “You still planning to be there,  kiddo?”

    “Yep”

    “Then, I’ll be by after the game.  You had better wait for me. I don’t want to take a shower, clean up and shave just to find out you skipped out early.”

    “I’ll be there.  I’ll even save you a plate of Virginia’s potato salad.”

    He had half turned away, but he stopped and looked back, “You remembered, Libba.  I’m touched.”

    “Oh, please don’t work yourself all into a frenzy.  You’ve always liked my mom’s potato salad.  So what?  Half the town of Verdigris Bend likes her potato salad. Do you know I’ve been offered real money for that recipe?”

    “Did you sell it?”

    “Couldn’t.  She won’t give it to me.  Says I’m too young to be trusted.”

    “OK, so it’s set.  I’ll see you tomorrow night at the church?”

    “We’re set, and I have to run.  Talk to you, then.”

    And with absolutely no realization that she was going to do it until she did it, Libba blew him a kiss.

    It was a quarter after three when she ran into Nadine again.  This time they were going down the steps they had climbed earlier in the day.,

    “So how went the day?”

    “Fine, this bunch seems to be a nice group of kids.  No social outcasts that I have to worry about, no bullies,” she knocked on the wood of the stair bannister.  “How are you getting on with your class?”

    “Same.  I have to keep an eye on Danny Gordon.  The boy has way too much interest in the girls. I know kids are developing  earlier and earlier, but he’s constantly trying to put his hands on one or another of the girls in the room.”

    “He’s always been more 'aware’ than the others in that group, if that’s the way to say it. Last year, when he was in my room, I wondered about him myself.     How did he get that way?  I worried  a little about the possibility of something having  been done to him, so I talked to Chuck.    Danny is Chuck’s nephew.  Chuck’s wife, Jodene, is the sister of Modelle Gordon, Danny’s mother.  Modelle is a waitress at the Chili Bowl.  Anyway, Chuck wouldn’t hear of it, and when I mentioned it to Modelle, she brushed me off, and I didn’t have any real evidence.  You can’t call Social Services just because a boy passes puberty a little earlier than the other children, and when you broke it on down, that’s all that I had to go on.”

    “That and your gut feeling that there was a problem.”

    “Yeah, but it wasn’t strong enough for me to actually do any more than I did.  I just kept an eye on him all last year, and nothing concrete ever materialized.  Still, if you think there’s a problem, do what you have to do.  To hell with what Chuck thinks.  After all, if a kid’s really got a problem, most of the time, his teacher is the only he has to speak up for him, but you know that”

    “Thanks, I’ll keep your thoughts in mind.”

    As they walked out to their cars, Libba tried to bring it up as nonchalantly as she could, “Listen, I was wondering.  You were teaching here when Emily Fornier  disappeared, weren’t you?”

    Libba was unprepared for the reaction her question evoked .  Nadine stopped walking, stared into space and allowed her tote bag full of papers to slide to the ground.

    “Oh, Good Lord, that’s who was in the basement.  I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” Nadine’s skin had turned so  pale that Libba was afraid the woman was going to pass out.

    Oh, Nadine, I am so very sorry.  I didn’t realize the question would have such an impact on you.   Otherwise,  I would gotten you to sit down first.  Here.  Give me your keys,” As she was talking she had taken Nadine’s keys from her hand, and unlocked the drivers’s side door of her Toyota.  Without talking, Nadine sat down, feet still on the ground outside the car.

    “It’s fine, it’s fine.  I should have thought of it myself.  It‘s just that it has been so many years....so many damned years.  You see, I was the teacher she asked to watch her class while she ran out.  Said she was feeling a little woozy, like she was getting the flu or something.  That was early in the day, right after the Pledge  of Allegiance and stuff.  She didn’t come back, and she didn’t come back.  Finally, I called the office secretary.  That would have been Natalie Adolph.  I asked Natalie to run down to the teacher’s lounge and see if Emily was ok.  She was gone.  No one ever found a trace.”

    “Did she take her things?”

    “Not that we could see.  It was in  May.   I remember that it was really warm that day, so she wouldn’t have had a coat.  Her purse was found in the bottom drawer of her desk.

    “No, she just walked out of the classroom and disappeared.   And, as God is my judge, when they discovered that body, Emily DuBois never entered my mind.”

    “She asked you to watch her class.  Were you friends, or did she ask you because your rooms were close together?”

    “Both. I was teaching third grade that year so my classroom was in the primary wing of the building.  The art room was right next door. It still is, you know.    But, we were good friends, too.  It was my first year of teaching as well as hers.  Gary and I had just been married, and Emily had been dating an art student from out at Northern Oklahoma University.  What was his name, anyway.....Paul?   That’s it.  Paul Gonzalez.  We would all go out on the weekends, usually a movie and supper.

    “Verdigris Bend was more isolated then.  The expressway hadn’t been built, and the drive into Tulsa took longer.  So, on the weekends, we would see whatever was showing at the drive -in over at  Skiatook and get something to eat  at the Rocket hamburger stand.

    “Now that I think of it, though,  Emily wasn’t really seeing that much of Paul by then.  She had met someone new.  She said he was from Tulsa.   Somehow, I got the impression that this new guy was someone really special.

    “After Emily started seeing this other guy, she would make excuses not to go with us.  She didn’t seem to want to do the double date thing with the new guy”

    “And you never saw the other guy?”

    “Not that I remember, Libba , it was so long ago.”

    “Did she seem to have anything else troubling her?”

    “I don’t remember her being troubled about anything, really.  As I recall, she resented Miss Ardis and thought her grandfather was a stick in the mud.  She  was always talking about getting her own place. 

    “ If she had done that, though,  she would have been on her own. Caleb had parted with some big bucks in order to make her a place in the house. He wasn’t about to help her move somewhere else, And, since Emily  didn’t have rent to pay, she was managing to save money even on the pittance we were paid in those days.”  Nadine paused and looked up at her, “What does Bobby Carmichael think?”

    “Oh, I don’t think he thinks anything at this point.  He’s just looking at all the possibilities.”

    “Well, I don’t know.  What a tough  break for the kid.  Damn!”

    “Listen, I’m really sorry for upsetting you, Nadine.  Are you going to be all right?”

    “Me?  Oh,  it was just a shock, but no I’ll be fine.  I just want to go home and think about all of this.  You ok, Libba?  Now that I think about it all, you were her high school aide that year, weren’t you?”

    “Yeah, and I was really upset at first, but  I’ve had a couple of days to get used to the idea. “

    ”Well, then what do you say we both go home and take bubble baths?”

    “Sounds like a plan. But, I have to run back in to the office for a minute.  Friday I didn't hand in my lesson plans, and I stuck them into my briefcase with the intention of turning them now, but I forgot. 

    “Well,  Chuck will understand.  Friday was a mess.”

    “Well, yes, but that's not why I didn't turn in my plans. I didn't even  hear about the body in the boiler until Merideth  told me.  No, I  have to admit that I was ducking our esteemed principal. I just didn't feel like being 'accidentally' pawed.

    “Oh , no.  He hasn't started with you, has he?  I thought he had outgrown that.”

    “Well, it's nothing terrible, but if he touches me in the wrong place again, accidentally or otherwise, he's going to draw back a bloody stump, I swear.  Nadine, why  has everyone tolerated that sort of behavior.  In other places where I have taught, he would have been fired years ago.”

    “Well, he has never pulled it with me so I can't really say.  We are too close to the same age.  I'm pushing fifty, too old for him. As far as the other teachers, I guess they have just decided it's not worth the aggravation.  We do have a sexual harassment policy, and I know the board wouldn't support him if anyone filed a complaint.  It's not that they are such a politically sensitive bunch.  Far from it.  But, they can spell 'punitive damages' and 'civil liability' pretty well. 

    “That's good to know, but  as I said, right now it's nothing I can't handle myself.  All right, let me get these plans into the office so I can get home.   See you tomorrow?”

    “Sure. You take care.

    The office appeared to be empty, but thankfully, still open. She was slipping her lesson plan book into Chuck's mailbox  She smelled him before she , actually heard  him.  It was the aroma  of  Old Spice after shave,  mixed with the smell of the tuna fish salad that he must have had for lunch. Just too stomach turning, at this juncture

    “Oh, good, Elizabeth.  I was wondering where your plan book was.  Of course, with everything that took place Friday, I couldn't possibly write you up for being late

    Never a tall man, he came to her chin.  However, while as a young gym teacher, he had been extremely proud of his physique and physical health, the years had taken a toll. The paunch and accompanying  double chin were an indication that no longer could he run a marathon , or even a five or ten kilometer run ,he might have trouble doing a sprint out to the parking lot.

    “Yes, Mr. McNulty, well, here they are now, and I'll try not to be late again.”  To herself, ' move that itchy little hand once fraction of an inch closer, and you'll pay the price, buster.'  Aloud, “And by the way, I haven't had a chance to ask you, how is Mrs. McNulty?  Still working for that pipe supply company over by Collinsville?”

    “Jodene?  Oh Jodene is fine.  No, no, she's retired and is, I must say, quite enjoying herself.   Exploring her creative side, she is. .  She enjoys scrapbooking and has been talking about opening up a little shop with her sister, Modene. “  The interjection of the little woman into the conversation appeared to stop the encroachment of his  hand, which had been  moving, oh so stealthfully towards Libba's  derriere. 

    “Well, see you tomorrow, Mr. McNulty.  I have to get home .  I have a pile of papers to grade, and  I'm hoping Bobby Baker will be back from Oklahoma City and have more information about the identity of the body they found on Friday.”

    “Really?  He has figured that out , has he?  Well, I always knew that Bobby was a bright boy. Bright boy, yes indeed.”

    “Well, I shouldn't say too much more, but once he rules out one person, which is what he's doing in Oklahoma City, then he'll be more sure that the body is actually Miss Fornier, the art teacher from years ago.”

    She stopped at the sound that escaped from Chuck's throat, a gasping, struggling sound.  He had turned his face away, but his heaving shoulders indicated that he was getting ready to either pass out or throw up.”

    Mr. McNulty?  Mr. McNulty, are you all right?  Here, sit down.  Me and my big mouth.  You're the second person today that I have had this effect on.  Good grief, I just forgot that you and Nadine, both were about the same age as Miss Fornier.  Here, I had thought I was the only one who remembered her, and it turns out I'm not even the one who remembers her the most vividly.  Were she and you friends?”

    “Oh, no, no.  Not really  close, but still we were young teachers here at the same time.  Is he, ….is Bobby sure that it's Emly they found?”  Chuck reached for a folding chair, propped against the wall, unfolded it and , practically, fell down on to it. 

    “No, not positively sure.  At least not yet. He's been looking into disappearances of women around that same time, and he drove over to Oklahoma City today to rule out another....woman who disappeared at the same time.”  Since, according to Virginia, Pearl had run from an abusive husband and was still afraid , twenty years later, of being found, Libba didn't mention her name. .  “He's going to rule that out, and has ordered dental records on file in Chicago. The  Chicago Police Department, apparently, still have the records that Emily's mother provided when Emily originally vanished.  Can I get you a drink of water?”

    Chuck's reaction  been even more pronounced than that of Nadine, Emily's best friend in Verdigris Bend.  His color had gone a drab gray, his eyes were half closed,   the man looked semi-conscious.

    “Oh, no. I'm fine, thank you.  It's just such a shock.  After all these years, and to think......she's been right under our noses all these years that have gone by.  It's just such a traumatic thing....” his voice trailed off...”Libba, dear, I'm sorry.  I hate to rush you off, but I do need to get home.  Jodene will be wondering where I am.  This is our night to babysit our grandson, Bobby, and I'm afraid Jodene isn't as patient with toddlers as she used to be.,”  and then he paused, stared into space a moment longer, pulled his white handkerchief out of his white pocket and wiped the sweat which had accumulated on his forehead, “Oh hell, who am I kidding?  Jodene wasn't patient with toddlers when we had toddlers.  Now, she's just worse. I have to go home, Libba.  I'll see you tomorrow.  Drive safely, dear, back to your grandparents' house.”

    And without another word, he walked out of the office and down the hall.   Totally off the subject and pertaining to nothing, whatsoever, Libba found herself wondering if she should  decide to remain in Verdigris Bend and , what seemed to be even more unlikely, should decide to buy Gran and Grandad's house from her parents, how man years she'd have to own it before it was referred to as anything but 'your grandparents' house.”





                                                            CHAPTER EIGHT
    She hadn’t intended to stop at Malloy’s, but as she approached its  parking lot, she remembered that she was wearing her last good pair of panty hose.  Without signaling, she pulled into the lot.  Since  Bobby was in Oklahoma City, she figured  she was safe. The flashing blue light in the  rear view mirror reminded her that Verdigris Bend had two police officers.

    “Pardon me, ma’am.  Can I see your license?”

    “Save it, Joshie.  It’s me.  Libba Jeffreys.”

    He didn’t bat an eye.  “Your license, please, ma’am.”

    “Whatever.  Here, Officer Joshie.”

    “Could you remain here, ma’am?  I’ll be right back.”

    Libba watched as Josh returned to the squad car and began to access the computer in his car.

    “What’s going on out here?”  Merideth   was knocking on the passenger side window.

    “Please, Mrs. Malloy, could you stand away from the vehicle?  I haven’t got a report back from the database yet.”

    “Database?  Josh Banks, you know, perfectly well, who this is.  Why have you got her pulled over?”

    “Well, failure to signal a turn for starters. Plus, her left tail light is out.  Right now, I’m checking for priors.”

    Libba could stay quiet no longer.  “Oh, good grief, you little twit.  What kind of priors are you expecting to find?”  She reached down to open the door.

    Josh’s reaction was immediate.  Voice raised, “Please, Ms. Cohen, do not exit the vehicle until I tell you to do so.  If you do not follow instructions, I will be forced to arrest you.”

     Libba gave up.  She just leaned back and waited. Merideth must have come to the same conclusion, because she  turned and walked back into the market. 

    Through the window, she could see that Josh had not changed since high school. He couldn’t have weighed more than one hundred fifty  pounds, soaking wet.  Standing between five feet eight and five feet ten inches tall, he was so thin that his Adam’s apple stood out from the rest of his throat like a tennis ball. The man didn’t have one gray hair on his little pinhead and looked all of twenty  years old at the absolute outside.  Annoying, because she knew that,  just as she,  he was in his late  thirties..

    His uniform was so large that Libba wondered why he didn’t get the next size down. Of course, it was possible there was no next size down. If that were true, then, why in the world hadn’t he had this one altered to fit him correctly?  He look ridiculous.  She wanted to laugh, but dared not.  He had ‘exited his vehicle’ and was walking back towards her car.

    “Yes, Ms. Cohen, your driver’s license and vehicle registration appear to be in order in the state of Pennsylvania.  However, we do have a small problem.”

    “Pennsylvania is a Commonwealth.”

    “What?  What in the hell are you talking about?  Don’t get smart with me, Libba.  Of course, Pennsylvania is a state.  Do you get your jollies making fun of law enforcement personnel?  You always thought you were so much better than the rest of us,  anyway,  you and your libber attitudes.......”

    Oh, Lord, he was starting to sputter.

    “I am not making fun of you.  I was simply pointing out that Pennsylvania, along with Massachusetts and Virginia, are Commonwealths, not states.  And you’re one to talk to me, you little tattletale!”

    “Tattle tale?  Did you say tattletale?  You were one who was committing an act of vandalism, plus you know darn good and well that you had been engaging in underage drinking.  And now, if you don’t make your living teaching innocent children. Ain’t that a hoot and a half?   What do you teach them, breaking and entering 101?”

    “So what if I was drinking, you little cretin!  The statute of limitations ran out on that about fifteen years ago!”

    “Kids!  Kids!  Merideth, the  experienced mother, snapped her fingers.   She had run back out  from the store at the signs of escalation in the confrontation,  “Do you think we could wrap this up?”

    They both turned and looked at her, momentarily silenced.  When Josh spoke again, his voice had assumed a lower tone.  “Yes, yes of course.  We have failure to signal a turn, and  equipment failure in the form of non-functioning driver’s side tail light.  Additionally, as a new resident of the STATE of Oklahoma, your license and vehicle registration have to be changed. Presently,  you are driving illegally” at Libba’s look, he held up his hand, “ I will hold on these citations for ten days.  If you get these issues  resolved,  I will tear up the tickets.  Sign here and here.”

    “Yes, Officer, “Libba signed, “Will that be all?”

    “Yes, ma’am.  Have a nice day.”

    As he drove away, Libba turned to Merideth, “Sweet heaven and earth.  How does Bobby work with that punk?”

    “Oh, get over it. He’s not that bad.  He probably overreacts from time to time, but frankly, from where I stood, you were acting just as badly as he was.  Besides, I’m willing to bet you started it.  You probably called him  Joshie when you know he hates it.

    “Lib, don’t you think you ought to get  past that whole toilet paper thing? It was only, oh what, twenty-five  years ago?”

    “Oh all right, I suppose, I do tend to hold onto grudges for a trifle too long,”

    “Twenty-five  years?  Yeah, I’d say that’s a little too long...”

    “But, wouldn’t you think he could make better use of his time?  Now, we actually have something that needs to be investigated.  Shouldn’t he be checking something out or asking someone, somewhere a question?  No, not Joshie. We’ve got  our own personal Dudley Do-Right hiding behind the Taco Shack in his patrol car.”

    “Libba, you go from one extreme to the other. First, you treat him as though he’s  mentally defective, and five seconds later,  you want him investigating murders. Are you insane?

    “Now, let’s think about this.  Josh Banks is not, repeat not, the brains of the Police Department of Verdigris Bend, but he   does what Bobby needs to have done in terms of filing and the like, and on those rare occasions, when someone needs to be arrested, Josh will go with Bobby and provide a second man on the scene. Because he does do all the filing and stuff, the town doesn’t need to hire even a part-time secretary, and Josh has a full-time job with benefits, such as they are.  Everyone is happy.”

    “Why don’t you put him on part-time and save the salary?”

    “Oh Lord, I have gotten so used to having you back home that I forget how long you were gone.  Do you remember that Josh’s dad was killed in VietNam, and his mother was a hair dresser over at the Puff and Pouf?  Anyway, he never knew his father, and everyone in town thinks that Josh wouldn’t have grown into such a pest if he had a dad on the scene.

    “Anyway, in the  eighties, after you had already left for college, Josh’s mom  married Joe Ronnie McMurtry.  Joe Ronnie is now Mayor Joe Ronnie, and he thinks the world and all  of Josh.  So, do you see, now, why most people in town don’t mind paying for a full-time police officer?”

    “So, you’re saying that I should be nicer to the boy?”

    I am pointing out that you are a grown woman who has run a successful business and is, currently, a public school  educator.  In spite of these fine qualifications, you are  behaving as though syou are  a child.  I am also saying that this is a small town with relations all over every place.  If you throw a cat, you will hit someone’s family member, and yeah, you might want to remember that.

    “It’s not like you shouldn’t signal when you turn and keep your license and registration up to date anyway.  What’s the big fat deal?”

    “Enough!  My ears are bleeding from all the lecturing. I’ll play  nice, ok?  Now, do you mind telling me where you stock your panty hose?”

    “They’re over by the paper goods.  The rack is in the middle of the floor.  See them?”

    “Yeah, I’ll get a few pair.  And, can you make me a cherry limeade?  After all the excitement, I’m thirsty.”

    While Merideth rang up the panty hose and mixed the limeade from the ancient fountain behind the counter, Libba absent-mindedly scanned the Community Bulletin Board posted behind the ice cream freezer.

    “Hey, Meri, there’s a big estate sale out towards Owasso this Saturday.  Want to go?  Says they’ve got a lot of antiques and stuff.”

    “Gee, I’d like to, but Saturday is the only day of the week that I absolutely have to work at the store.  That’s Sara’s day off.”

    “No problem.  Last thing I need is more antiques.  If I stay here, I might want to put my own mark on Gran's place, but right now, I've got  everything I need, right down to bed linens.”

    “What did you do with your stuff from your marriage?”

    “Sold it, mostly.  What I didn’t sell is stored in Larry’s pole barn out behind his and Marilyn’s  house.  Once I make up my mind what I’m going to do with my life, I’ll know what I’m going to do with my furniture. 

    “Hey, what’s this?”  She pulled a flyer down off the bulletin board and read it aloud,






                                         Sale....Sale...Sale
                            Twenty-five percent off everything in the Gallery
                                      Gonzalez' Art Gallery
                           Specializing in Native American  Arts and Crafts
                                 Rugs, Baskets, Jewelry and Paintings
                                   Pablo Gonzalez, Proprietor
                                         4103 S. Peoria
                                  (In the heart of Brookside)


        “Merideth, look at this. He’s calling himself Pablo, now, but I’m willing to bet it’s the guy who Emily  was seeing right around the time  she disappeared.  Miss Ardis said he opened an art gallery in Tulsa, and I just know this is him. He would know why she walked out of her classroom.  I have to call Bobby,” she reached for her cell phone and stopped, “Dammit, he’s in Oklahoma City talking to Nancy and Pearl.  I’ll leave a message at his office for him to call me when he gets in.  Nuts, I can’t do that, I’ll have to talk to Joshie, pardon me, Josh.  And don’t say, I told you so, even though you did.  If I hadn’t snapped at him, then I could leave the message.  I get it.  I really get it.  Gotta run.  I’ll see you tomorrow tonight.”

    “Oh, good, you’re coming, then?”

    “Yeah, I promised to meet Bobby there after his softball game,”  at the look, “  “Give it a rest, huh?  We’ve agreed to meet at the Verdigris Bend United Methodist Church Supper.  It is hardly dinner and dancing at the posh club  in downtown Tulsa.”

    “Sure, Libba.  I’m not going to say anything.  I’m just saying, nice.  Very nice.  I hope it works out between the two of you.”

    Merideth walked around from behind the counter and handed Libba her  pantyhose and  cherry limeade. 

    “Because, you hardhead, I have missed having you in town.  I want you to stay here in Verdigris Bend with us, and I know you.  It takes you forever to get over things.  Your husband turned out to be a first class jerk, and you were terribly hurt. Now, you’re carrying your divorce around like it’s a sack of potatoes that you don’t know how to put down.   Pardon me, if I think Bobby Carmichael and Verdigris Bend might be just what you need.”

    “Merideth, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t lonely, and I’d be lying if I said that Bobby wasn’t still cute. I would also be lying if I said it wasn’t good to be home, and, as you have  pointed out, I do tend to hang on to pain and hurt. But, the thing is, we’re not spring chickens anymore.  We’ve both  got baggage.    So,  Merideth, all I can say is that we’ll see.  That’s all.  We will  see.  Is that good enough?”

    “Yeah, that’s good enough, but would you stop with that ‘we’re old’ nonsense?  I’m the same age as you, and I still feel like a spring chicken, thank you very much.   And, yes, Libba,  even after all these years, I still enjoy kissing my husband.   Would you look, it’s practically dark?  I need to get closed up.  Want to come home with me for dinner?”

    “No, I’m tired and have papers to grade. And, for the record, you obviously enjoy doing more than kissing your husband, as your change of life baby will attest,” and before Meri could find something to throw at her, she ran, yelling as she went, “See you tomorrow.”

    It was completely dark when  she pulled into the driveway.  Tossing  her purse and briefcase onto the dining table, she  checked her messages, none thank God.  It took her a few minutes to turn the thermostat up, put on the coffee and start the bath water running.  A few more minutes to go back into the kitchen, turn off the coffee water and pour a glass of red wine.  Carrying the wine back into the bathroom, she placed it on the stand by the tub and slid into the huge clawfoot tub which was, now, full of bubbles  and wonderfully hot water.

    Forty-five minutes later, wrapped in a blue chenille robe and feeling enormously better, she reclined on the sofa, another glass of wine, a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tomato soup on the end table.  The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough with the papers quickly graded.  She was peacefully dozing when the phone rang.

    “Hello.”

    “Hey, what’s up?  I just got back into town and looking over Josh’s paperwork.  Good going, Libba.  You’re a one-woman crime wave.”

    “Oh, please.  Let me live.  I have already been scolded by Merideth.  I will change my registration and get a new license this week. I’ll drive into Tulsa to the AAA  one day after school.  Plus, I’ll stop by Larry’s shop sometime this week and get him to replace the bulb in the left tail light.”

    “Why bother to drive all the way into Tulsa?  Just go into Turley to the tag agency. They can help you get your registration changed and tell you where the closest place is for you to take a driver’s test.”

    “Oh yeah, I keep forgetting.  I’ll do that.  The woman who works in there is really helpful.  She used to be a Congresswoman or something.  Very bossy, but helpful.”

    “Whatever.  Just get it done, because I will have to listen to Josh every day until you do.”

    “Fine. Did you find Nancy and Pearl?”

    “Yeah, they’re alive and well in Oklahoma City.  Seems Edgar was quite a brutal son of a bitch.  So much so, that, after all these years, neither one of them wanted me to let anyone back here know where they are living.”

    “Do you mean they denied who they were?”

    “Tried to.  But, once I promised not to let on to Edgar or his family.   Nancy took me over to the rest home where her mother lives now.  Nope, kiddo.  Pearl Watkins is, most definitely, not our lady in the boiler.  Which, as far as I’m concerned brings it down to your favorite art teacher.”

    “Ooh, ooh, I nearly forgot to tell you.  I was talking to Nadine after school, and she and Emily were really good friends.  Nadine and her husband double dated all the time with Emily and her boyfriend, a student from NOU. And, Bobby, guess what?

    “I stopped by Malloy’s after work and saw a flyer on the community bulletin board, and you won't believe what it was  advertising.  Guess, just guess!”

    “Libba, cut me some slack.  I drove over a hundred and fifty miles, and I have a headache that is so bad that I feel like I’m trying to go blind.  Just spill it, ok?”

    “You’re such a drag, Bubba.  Ok, I saw a flyer at Malloy’s from advertising a sale at this Native American art gallery over in Tulsa, Brookside, I think.  The owner is a Pablo Gonzalez, and I'm betting it's the same guy.  Miss Ardis said he'd opened up an art gallery in Tulsa.  I was thinking I might go in and see if it is him, and if it is, ask him some questions. “

    “Like hell you will!  I’ll talk to him my damn self.  You’ll stay out of it.”

    Long silence.  He thought she had hung up.

    “What is the matter with you?  Tired or not, you’re way over the top.  That sale is open to the public,  and if I want to go, I will go.  What are you going to do, hog tie me and leave me in a closet?”

    There was a silence on the other end.  After what seemed like a full three to four minutes, Bobby spoke.  “I’m tired, Lib.  The drive wasn’t great, and when I got home I had a message on my machine from Molly.  It seems that Elaine’s got a job offer in St. Louis, and she thinks she’s going to move Molly over there as well.  I feel like I’ve been kicked in my gut.”

    “Gee, Bobby, I’m sorry.  Does Molly want to go?”

    “No, she doesn’t.  She’s going to be a junior next year.  You remember how important the last two years of high school were. Or maybe, you don’t.   You might  have run off to another school for the last two years, but Molly wants to stay here and graduate with her class.”

    “I wanted to go to college in a different place. I would have hated starting at a new high school for the last two years.”

    “Well, Molly is really upset.  She’s first string on the girl’s varsity basketball team, and she just made first chair in the cello section of the orchestra.  No, she definitely does not want to go.”

    “Well, can she live with you? “

    “Sure, she can.  At least, as far as I’m concerned, she can.  Elaine, now.  That’s another deal. I’m sure Elaine would, literally, pass a brick before she would consent to letting Molly stay with me.”

    “Bob, I’m no attorney, but Molly’s sixteen years old.  If it even got as far as a custody hearing, the judge would  give what she wants a lot of weight. He is, also,  going to consider how late into her school career this move would occur.  Clubs and sports play a big part in her chances of receiving financial aid for college.  She can’t be expected to start at a new school and have the same opportunities available to her that she would have if she were allowed to remain in her old school.”

    “You think?  I mean, do you really think the judge would give what Molly wants more weight than what Elaine would want?”

    “Sure, I think.  In fact, I’m pretty sure I know that. As I just said,  Molly is sixteen, Bob, and you are an upstanding member of the community.  Her opinions have to be given preference.”

    “By the way, you do have a house with a room for her, don’t you?”

    “Of course, I do.  I have a small ten acre spread just outside of town, back towards Sperry.  She has her own horse.”

    “Well, there you go.  No self respecting judge in Tulsa County is going to separate a girl from her horse.  Talk to an attorney, Bubba.”

    “That is such a load of my mind.  Sorry, I snapped. However,  Libba, you cannot talk to this man alone.  You would be interfering with an official investigation.  By tomorrow morning, I should have a definite identification on the body.  This afternoon , the state examiner called and said they had obtained the dental records from Chicago.  If it is, Emily, and if the Gonzalez in Tulsa  is her old boy friend,  then yeah.  I’m going to have to talk to him.  Wednesday is as good a day as any.  If you agree to keep your mouth shut, I will let you go with me.  But, you have got to stay quiet.  Do you understand, Libba?”

    “Yes,  I understand, Bobby.  I will just go along for the ride.  Cross my heart and hope to die.”

    “Yeah, yeah.  Stick a thousand needles in your eye.  I’m going to bed.  Suddenly, thanks to you, I can sleep.  I’ll still see you tomorrow night?”

    “Of course.  I’m looking forward to it, then.”

    “Good, See you then. Good night.”

    “Oh, and  one more thing.  Nadine also told me that Gonzalez was old news by the time Emily disappeared.  She had a new man.  Nighty night”

                    Bobby was left staring a dead phone and silently swearing.  Another suspect.  Great, just great.