LOGAN IS DISAPPEARING

The town I grew up in is being demolished before my very eyes. I am not taking the position that this should not happen, I am just a little sad about it. My Grandfather Brown, better known in the family as George Floyd, butchered meat in Logan all of his life. He refused to work for a chain store. He made his living in small, local groceries. The one I remember best was the Ideal Grocery. It was on Main Street in the block of buildings that started with the Shamrock Bar and ended on the alley with the Ideal. Yesterday, I drove past and there was a gaping hole where the Ideal used to be. I blinked and part of my childhood disappeared.
In the 7th grade we all went up to the school on the hill. No one had ever heard of a middle school. 7th and 8th grades were just in the new part of the high school. After school I would often walk down to the Ideal to ride home with Grandpa. This was a neat deal for two reasons. First, he would sit me on a stack of cheese boxes behind the meat counter and cut a slice of Colby cheese from the huge, yellow round on the counter. A piece of bologna was added and handed to me on brown wrapping paper. Nothing ever tasted more wonderful after school. Of course there were other attractions. For instance, whatever HIGH SCHOOL boy was working as a delivery boy that year. Oh the crushes! Obviously, a messy, big-eyed 14 year old was more fun to tease than stocking shelves. Mr. Wright, the owner, tolerated much from all of us kids. The second reason this was neat was because I had time to call Grandma on the phone and compare what she was having for supper with what Mother was having. Then I could decide which was the better deal. Mother put up with me, although disgusted.
The big disaster was when I was in the 5th grade. I was running through the back alley toward the store. Most businesses burned coal and dumped the ashes in the alley. I took a maximum header across the ashes. I ripped myself at least one new knee. Grandpa wiped me up and took me home where Dad proceeded to torture me. I remember sitting on the toilet seat while Dad washed the bloody knee. He applied a match to the tweezers before removing cinders. Uggg. There was worse to come. He then explained that this was only going to hurt for a little while and it hurt him more than me. Sure! Like I believed that. He poured Iodine into the hole in my knee! I almost came off the seat. That was the last carefree romp I ever had in that alley.
So the Ideal is dust and so is Logan High School on the hill. And the Library. We have a new one, but I liked the old, inadequate one where I spent uncounted afternoon idles. It was in the upstairs rooms of what is now the Water Department. It had dark wooden floors, woodwork and window seats. I spent countless hours at those oak library tables and in the windows overlooking Main street. There were corner cupboards and one summer I read the books from top to bottom. It was wonderful. When I wasn't at the library, I was at the swimming pool. The pool is there, but not the water. At noon I would ride my bike to the pool. Swim until 5:00 and ride home for supper. At 7:00 I would go back to the pool and swim until 9:00. That is, of course, except every Saturday morning which was spent at catechism..for two years, winter and most of the summer. This frivolous lifestyle stopped when I turned 15 and started working in Blosser's Restaurant Banquet Room. Blosser's, which was a landmark restaurant, is gone too. So is Brandt's Restaurant, Helber's Colonial and most of the businesses in the downtown. I worked in all those restaurants in high school and college. I suppose a town reinvents itself every generation. I have seen 50 years of change. When I was a girl there were no PCs, no single party phone lines, no TVs until about 1956. No one had gone to the moon, everyone went to church and Sunday School..at least everyone I knew. The only place that was cool in the 90 degree summer was the picture show. We went on Saturday night and Sunday night. The picture changed on Wednesday and Sunday. We walked home from the movies after 11:00 at night with never a thought to safety. We never locked a door and we always knew where the cars keys were. They were in the car. We always knew where Mom was. She was home.

A Great Day at the Hocking County Fair!

I attempted to go to the Hocking County Fair. Note the word attempted. A word of advice. Never go anywhere with someone who is incompetent, inadequate and senile. Debbie was supposed to go too, but was sick. I should have known right then. Linda and I started off with my scooter in the back of the car. We got to the fair gate and I realized that I had been running my mouth and forgot to stop at the bank. I only had five dollars. Not enough to get in. So we turned around and drove back to the bank. We started back to the fair and were almost there when Linda said there is something wrong with this car. She was driving my car. She thought it was the tires. We turned around and went back to the gas station where they filled my tires for - Are You Getting This? - 75 cents!#@ Well, let me tell you I nearly passed out. I have never paid for air. So whatever. We started back to the fair.
We paid our six dollars and found a parking place. We dragged out my scooter and with the help of a man and another woman, we got it together. All of this under a beating sun. However, I knew it would be much better in the fair grounds away from the hot, dusty parking lot. OK. Ready to rumble? Where are the keys for the scooter? Oh. Up home in my purse. See, I didn't want to have my purse with all my credit cards and stuff at the fair so I just put my money in my pocket, but the keys...well. I sat on the scooter while Linda went back to the house. Did I mention that it was 85 degrees or more today. Beautiful day. Lots of trees over on that hill. Hot, burning up, miserable. The fair grounds are at the far end of the town and my house is at the complete other end. Logan isn't very big, but I sat in the sun a good 30 to 40 minutes. Finally! Linda was back. I was panting for the keys. She handed them to me. Nothing happened. Now, I DID SO remember to charge the battery! We Tried everything. While we were dismantling and loading the scooter into the boot, I told Linda how much I had enjoyed going to the fair and I certainly hoped we could go again next year. We reminisced about our good time at Jack's with a large cold drink and a big piece of pie. We deserved it. I can hardly wait for next year.

YEP, VIRGINIA, IT IS ALL TRUE!

I always knew it. From the Dispatch Article "3-4 Hours of Exercise May Fool Fat Gene". There it is, my friends, in black and white. The big admission. Yes, Virginia, there is a fat gene, AND all you have to do to beat it is add three or four hours of exercise..A DAY, EVERY DAY. Now that is 3 hours more than everyone else, of course. I know Sylvia said there was no rose garden, but this is outrageous!

Even when I was regarded as somewhat chubby, I was always the recipient of sad head shaking and those lugubrious comments about my pretty face. As one of my previous, thirty-five year old adorable doctors once explained to me while patting my hand in sincere sympathy, "Italian women are the most beautiful in the world until around thirty when all of that luscious abundance turns to fat and there is not much you can do." I howled with laughter and he was injured in his sensitivity gene. Those skinny tushes insist that fatties are just lazy and without will power. Well, OK, sometimes I can be classified as lazy. Actually a good bit of the time. But, Oh thou without the fat gene, you have done nada to achieve what you were given at birth. So do not gloat. There but for a gene, go I. That is my story and I am sticking to it!

OH PLEASE! NO MORE POLITICS!

Some days politics are particulary disgusting. This may apply in churches too; especially during political campaigns. I read in the paper today where the Alliance Defense Fund, which employs 40 lawyers, is encouraging conservative churches to violate the non-profit tax laws by supporting preferred candidates from the pulpit. Someone has apparently forgotten to render unto Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God's. Now what if they do get away with this protest? After all before 1954, it was legal to praise or demonize a politician from the pulpit. Most people will not sue a church even when they deserve it. (Catholic priest problems excepted.) It seems to me that the reason for the change in the law was a valid one. If a church is tax exempt, then it has no right, I think, to become what is almost a PAC. Furthermore, how long do you think it would take for the legislature to decide that if the churches were going to proselytise for candidates, they ought to forget about being tax exempt and pony up with the rest of us? Aside from the possibility of loosing that lucrative exemption, there is also what the Bible says about spreading opinion or gossip as if it was truth. It does not matter what side you are on, there are plenty of unkind things to be said about all the candidates since they, like us, are poor human specimens. Frankly, I would be willing to bet that the intention is to damn more than to praise. What do you think?
Furthermore, while I am on my hobbyhorse, let's talk about immigration. My people all managed to get here legally, become citizens, although they too did not have a pot, and actually learned to "speaka da egalish". My grandmother had four sons: two marines, one sailor and one dog face soldier. Most of their grandchildren went to college and or had the ability to take care of their families without requiring the government to help. From that perspective, I really do resent my tax dollars supporting half of the Mexican population. (exaggeration is part of poetic license.)
However, I must say that it is most discouraging to consistently read articles about picking up illegals and how that is supposed to solve the problem. I say BOLOGNA! The day the congress decides that it really wants these illegal workers to leave, it will come down very hard on the pockets of the people who hire them. I suggest we start in Texas. California; aah dem big money places. When it is no longer a good financial idea to hire these people and keep them in quasi slavery, the problem will disappear magically. As for the problem of the illegal workers already here, Germany seems to have a lot of them. Their legal system handles it. Why don't we ask them how they do it? Ok. I'm off the soap box, but it does just ....I had better stop here or I will be throwing down my Ohio State Hat and stomping on it!

THIS AND THAT

I know you must be tired of my rhapsodies about tomatoes, but just one swan song before the season is over. This is a picture of ….yes! CAPRESE! I just thought you ought to have a look at what you are missing. Doesn’t look like anything special? Well, hold your hat and hallelujah! You just order it at a really good Italian restaurant if you are not brave enough to put it together yourself. If you crave what the English used to call “Love Apples”, I promise you a treat.

Remember Michele and the Night Visitor? The important news is that our social agencies were able to help her family not only to secure transport to the Lancaster doctor, but also to help them stabilize their economic situation over the next six months. I was thankful that our church members were willing to take special trouble for a stranger who knocked in the night. However, the saga does not end with us congratulating ourselves for being good guys. (The Christ would say that we did nothing more than what we were supposed to anyway.) On Saturday I was thrilled to receive a card in the mail. It was a very kind thank you from my new friend. I think the least I can do is invite them to church. What do you think? I think the devil lost a round!