STALK....Chapters Five and Six

                     CHAPTER FIVE..................

Carolyn sat staring into a cup of muddy looking coffee in the break room on the sixteenth floor of the Evans Building.  She had given her presentation to her boss, hoping for an immediate reaction that would put her on the Play Land Pools and Spas account she wanted so much.  Instead, Wally had listened politely, nodding at the right places, then he put the bright orange folder into his top right desk drawer “for safe keeping”.  Carolyn left his office without a hint of what his decision might be, but as she rounded the corner she saw Gary Bowers heading into Wally’s office with his own folder.  She knew they were going head to head for the account, and she also knew that he had an advantage because he had a penis.   For just a few seconds she allowed herself the luxury of fantasizing about following Wally into the men’s room, maybe shouting at him while he stood at the urinal.   She imagined him cowering in a white tiled corner as she coldly explained to the cringing executive her plan to leave the men’s room to go from office to office to inform every staff member about his lack of endowment…..

A familiar voice pulled her out of her reverie, “Hey girl…..what are you doing in here?”  Marion, Wally’s personal secretary, was grinning at her from the doorway.  “You know Gary’s in Wally’s office, and his nose is so brown he can hardly breathe right now,” she laughed.  “I cannot for the life of me see what use Wally has for that guy.  He’s a major suck up. “

Marion was a statuesque black woman, with hair in loose, black patent leather curls that framed a face attractive enough to grace any magazine.  She was sharp, and everyone in the company knew Wally wouldn’t last six months in his current job if she decided to leave.  Marion gave him an hour by hour list of what he was supposed to do every day of his working life.   Without her he’d be lost, and at least he was smart enough to know that.   Marion Davidson was the highest paid personal secretary in the company for a very well thought out reason.

“I’m just sitting here pouting and plotting,” Carolyn couldn’t help but smile.  “You headed out for lunch already?”

“Already?   It’s twelve fifteen, girl.  You know how cranky I get when I’m hungry.  Come on!  Go with……”

Carolyn thought for a second, and then said, “What the hell.   Let’s get Chinese, I’m heading to the gym after work and that’ll be long gone before I start to work out.”

As the elevator doors closed Carolyn thought to herself, “Gary may be able to follow Wally into the men’s room, but I’ve got the real power in that office in this elevator with me.”  She couldn’t help feeling better as she and Marion laughed and talked on the way down to the first floor.

                                 
                                   CHAPTER SIX.......................

Marco woke with a start, the sunlight had shifted and he knew he’d slept longer than planned.  He looked at the clock on Carolyn’s night stand and realized it was nearly one o’clock.   Slapping his forehead he stomped into the bathroom, relieving himself and putting the lid down without flushing the toilet.  Let her wonder about that.

Bounding down the stairs, Marco knew he’d have to rush now to get to the hospital, then on to his night job at UPS.    From seven pm till five am he loaded the big, brown trucks.  He much preferred working in construction; he felt trapped indoors and working on a building site was a great release for his energy and, sometimes, a good place to hide a problem.  He had given up construction work after Carolyn moved to Brainard Road.  Working nights at the UPS warehouse was boring and repetitive, but it paid well and it gave him his days free to keep watch on the house and Carolyn. 


Marco Gianetti was forty six years old but looked to be in his early thirties.  At five eleven he was physically fit with the kind of dark good looks that make women take a second look.  The last of six boys, Marco had been his Mama’s baby; he could do no wrong in her eyes, and she’d had plenty of opportunity to change her mind as he grew up.

Marco lived with his Mother till her death eight years ago.  Since then he had been in and out of relationships with several women; some would be lucky to escape with their lives.  Two had not.  Marco knew the two women who “died on him” were not his responsibility.  Both had been leaving him even though they knew better; both had disappeared without a trace. 

Marco had been part of the construction crew on the houses where the two women had been hidden.   One was a huge house at the edge of town that kept Marco employed for eight months; first dry walling and then brick work.   Susie Master’s body was wrapped in plastic and placed in a lime filled bag.  Marco custom made the bag himself out of heavy canvas, then tied the top with plastic clothes line.  Susie would stand in the corner of the laundry room as long as the house stood.  Marco was careful to place the body away from any plumbing or heating that might need repair at some point.  He remembered laughing as he installed shelves from floor to ceiling on that wall; if they only knew what they were really storing.

The second property was a summer house eighteen miles from town.  Marco thought the huge fieldstone fireplace was his master piece.  If they ever tore it down they would find Marilyn Anson’s corpse in a brown leather suitcase he had entombed in the back wall of the firebox.  He especially didn’t feel bad about Marilyn because she had made a very rude comment about his relationship with his Mother.  No one spoke evil of Marco’s Mother and lived.

As he passed JuJu’s dog bed he dropped two more treats beside her, bent to scratch her ears, and said, “Enjoy it while you can, little girl.  You’re a very sick little doggy.”  JuJu wiggled with glee and grabbed one of the treats in her mouth as she rolled at Marco’s feet.  “Yes, sweetie….a very sick little girl.”

JuJu watched adoringly as Marco crossed to the refrigerator.  Rummaging in the crisper drawer he came out with an apple, then grabbed a handful of grapes for good measure.  Smiling, he picked up a container of black cherry yogurt, then carefully replaced it on the wire shelf.  Carolyn lived on yogurt and fruit.   He had never found much in the way of leftovers in the fridge; sometimes he would heat himself a can of soup or make a sandwich.  When he and Carolyn were together for good that would change.  He was an excellent cook and he looked forward to making meals with her in this big kitchen.     He tucked the fruit into a sandwich bag he pulled from a kitchen drawer, then headed down the basement stairs to get on with the day. 

Marco gingerly pulled himself out the window,  then turned back with the screwdriver to force it back into the frame, leaving everything just as he’d found it.  He jogged to his car, and soon he was headed back down the hill toward Mercy Medical Center.

Sick of being sick.

Is there any better time for a little introspection than when you are sick in bed? I think not....

 

I am finally on the mend, but recently my head cold turned into an awful chest cold and a bone rattling cough.   I have been hot….cold…sweaty….chilled to the bone…can’t lie flat, can’t sit up…head thumping sick.  And when I can’t entertain myself outside my head,  I turn inward and begin to turn the pages in my memory’s scrapbook.

 
I suffered many bouts with bronchitis as a little girl.  Mom's treatment was to put me in a “mist tent” to help me breathe.  That was an old bed sheet, a TV tray in the middle of the bed to support it, and the trusty vaporizer pumping out steam and the occasional stream of boiling water just to keep things interesting.    

 


If it persisted out came the heavy guns, I would have to drink Dr.Drake’s Cough Medicine.   Actually “drink” is not the right word…my parents held me down and poured the foul smelling/evil tasting concoction down my throat.  To this day I can still see that bottle and taste that stuff.  It looked like liquid pearls, and its oily texture clung to the inside of my protesting mouth long after I had relented and swallowed.  I know they were doing what they thought they had to do….but EWWWWWWWWWW.   I sincerely believe Dr.Drake’s Cough Medicine was the childhood medicinal equivalent of water boarding.

 

Mom’s food remedy when I was sick was poached eggs.  I almost never eat poached eggs as an adult; it is still a childhood “sacred food” that is reserved for the times I need to summon all the healing powers I can muster.

 

Although I never want to see another jar of it, I will always admire the all-inclusive powers of Vicks Vapo Rub.   You can eat it, breathe it in steam, rub it on, stick it up your nose…it’s magic!  Mom would slather that stuff on my wheezing chest, and then fold one of my Dad’s t-shirts over the mess.  She would pin that shirt to the inside of my pajama top to keep it in place, thus forming a smelly, slimy poultice that was protected by this thick pad as the fumes burned my eyes and sinus cavities.  Then it was time for a pot of boiling water with….what else?....Vicks globbed into the pot.  I’d stand on a chair, towel over my head to trap the steam, and breathe in.   I am amazed some creative lawyer hasn’t formed a class action suit for baby boomers who have suffered lung damage from the piercing fumes Vicks Vapo Rub.

 

The only interruption in this eucalyptus fueled marathon was to take my temperature.   I cannot tell you how happy I was to make the first step toward growing up….the oral thermometer.  Although it seemed as if I had this little glass stick poking out of my mouth for most of the winter, the real fun began when one of them broke.  I can remember “chasing” the liquid mercury around the table top on several occasions.  If not for the fact that I had a long bout with bronchitis every year, and played with numerous globs of mercury,
                                                      I might have had a much higher IQ.

 

These long ago memories of being sick are far and away over shadowed by the memory of my Mother, hovering over me.  She was faithful in her efforts to heal and entertain as she performed the rituals I resisted so energetically.  I will never forget her cool hand on my hot forehead…the endless supply of poached eggs at any hour of the day or night…and her smile of relief when things seem to be going in the right direction.

Taking a careful look at my memories of her taking care of me, and much later me taking care of my own children, I realize she didn’t know what she was doing any more than I did.  Every Mother remembers the “is this the right thing to do” terrors!  But I thought she knew everything…and my children believed the same thing of me.  Time puts those memories into perspective, but it still doesn’t diminish my appreciation of the love and devotion of a young mother doing her very best to care for her child.

 

And so, for all the Vicks Vapo Rub, and the Dr. Drake’s (shudder) Cough Medicine and the poached eggs I thank you, Mom.  And for the memories that I can still take out and enjoy all these years later I applaud you.

 

My Mother called a little while ago to see how I’m feeling.  At 87 she still worries about me.  Her parting comment cemented that fact when she said, “Now, don’t go to bed with a cough drop in your mouth, and don’t use them when you’re coughing!   You can get choked on those things.”  

 

                           Some things blessedly never seem to change

 

                                                   LIFE IS GOOD

STALK

                                    CHAPTER THREE..........................

Jeff Breightner woke in a hotel room four and a half hours from home and all alone in the king sized bed.  This was day three of a big computer software change at Stallard Medical Center. Jeff lead a team of trainers who struggled to teach the business office staff how to use the new system that now ran parallel to their “but we’ve always done it this way” system.   That comfortable system would be phased out in one more week, and at the moment it looked as if there might be a department mutiny before that could be accomplished.  The sixty one year old department head was Eleanor, a steel grey haired woman that he had dubbed “The Iron Maiden”.  She wanted no part of this new system and was pulling out all the stops to make the transition even more difficult than it had to be.  Jeff groaned as he rolled out of bed; a coffee pot on sat on a courtesy counter next to the sink.  He filled it with water and plugged it in, frowning at it as if that would make it work faster. 

Pulling his cell phone off the charger, Jeff pushed the voice command and said, “Call KO, cell”.  The female voice that he thought sounded just like Connie Chung responded and did as she was told.

“Speak to me……….” Carolyn’s voice music to his ears.

“Hi, baby.   You at work yet? he queried.

A car door slammed in the background, “Just got here.  I didn’t make it to the gym this morning, so I’ll head over there after work,” was the answer as she wrestled her briefcase from the front seat floor.

“It will be dark, so park near the door….promise?”

“Yah, yah…..stop worrying.   I’m fine, but I just miss you.   Are you ever coming home?”she asked.

“Six days and counting, sweetheart.   Even if this old broad fights me to the death I can get out of here in six days,” he laughed.

“Just come home to me.  JuJu and I miss you."  He could hear people in the background as she made her way across the parking lot.   "Okay, I’m going into the building and you know this phone cuts out in the elevator so I’ll call you after lunch, k?

“Alright,” he sighed, wishing he could hold on to her just one more minute. “KO?  I love you.  Don’t forget that.”

“How could I forget?  It’s still written on the bathroom mirror,” she chuckled.  “Got to dash!!”

“Okay…..have a good day.   Talk to you later, baby,” he said.   He sat looking at the phone a second, wondering about the “bathroom mirror” comment,  then brushed it off as a joke and plugged the phone back into the charger.

“Shower time”, he mumbled, and after pouring a cup of coffee, he headed into the bathroom to get ready for his regularly scheduled morning showdown with the Iron Maiden.

                            CHAPTER FOUR.....................

Marco made a left into the driveway on Brainard Road.   The two story saltbox was set back a hundred fifty feet from the road, the front of the property concealed by a six foot tall boxwood hedge that was lush and crisply trimmed.   The concrete drive ended at a two car garage, but Marco pulled the black car to the left of the driveway, tucking it into a corner formed by the deep hedge, so it could not be seen from the road.   He exited the car, following the hedge around the left side of the house and stopping at a basement window at the left rear of the home.  Pulling a screw driver out of his jacket, he knelt to remove the window from the frame, just has he had done so many times before.  Marco had worked on the construction crew that built this house fourteen years ago, and as long as no one paid close attention to this particular window frame, he would always have access to this place with very little trouble.   He had an original set of keys to the house, but Carolyn had replaced the front door when they bought the property four years ago.  When he used the back door key Carolyn's dog, JuJu, would go into a barking frenzy, and he didn’t want to take the chance that it would raise the neighbor’s suspicions.  Entering through the basement window, Marco pulled three dog treats from his pocket and climbed the basement stairs.  JuJu, Carolyn’s  yorkshire terrier, raised her head from her dog bed in the corner as he opened the basement door.   Recognizing him as the guy who always gave her dog treats; she wiggled with happy anticipation as she trotted over to greet him.  Rolling onto her back the dog groaned with delight till Marco rubbed her belly, then flipped onto her feet and raced back to her fluffy little bed with her prized dog biscuits.  JuJu circled three times, then sank down in her bed, sighing with happiness.

“Some watch dog you are,” he said.

Stepping into the laundry room off the kitchen, Marco checked the stack of laundry on the dryer.  Yep, she’d be wearing the bear t-shirt and blue leotards tonight when she got home.  He shivered with excitement at the thought.

Marco considered this place “his” house.  Three different people had held the paperwork, but he always came and went as he pleased because it was his house.  The first “owner” was a man named Robertson who collected antiques; he had made the mistake of putting a highboy under the window Marco used to get in.   Denied entrance to his house by this man’s stupidity, Marco took action by posing as a gas company employee checking out a gas leak.  He made the house ready for new ownership by pushing Robertson down the basement steps and bashing in his skull while he lay unconscious on the basement floor.   Everyone thought the clumsy recluse had accidently killed himself.

The second owner was a family of four.  Mom and Dad Catron were nice enough, but they had no control over their two ugly children.  When Marco found gouges in the beautiful oak floors in the hallway upstairs he decided they had to go.  Mrs. Catron, a devoted cranberry juice drinker, was a health nut.   It wasn’t a big chore to disguise the taste of an insecticide in the pitcher she always kept in the fridge.  Evidently no one thought to check out why a perfectly healthy forty seven year old woman died in excruciating gut pain at the local hospital.  Mr. Catron just buried her and moved on with his homely duo, back to Texas or some other god forsaken desert, where his family could help him raise them.

Enter Carolyn and Jeff Breightner.  Marco knew this was going to be a better match for his house when they had the upstairs hall floors refinished before moving in.   He fell in love with Carolyn at first sight, and proceeded to find out everything about her.

Marco’s first good luck came when he checked Carolyn out on Facebook.  Her page was open, so he could learn about her, her friends and her family, without much trouble.  Open and trusting and very social, Carolyn chatted with her friends, telling them everything on her page.  He absorbed the information, hungry for every morsel.  Carolyn Breightner moved not only into Marco’s house, but into his heart.

Now, four years later, Marco had decided it was time for Jeff to go away so that he and Carolyn could be together.  His almost daily visits to his house weren’t enough anymore.   Being in the house part time made him want to be with Carolyn full time.  

From the start Marco had enjoyed his time in the house alone.  He used the time wisely, slowly getting to know Carolyn.  Eventually he became convinced she was the one for him. This was not some fly-by-night crush; Marco had looked at every picture, every keepsake, everything she held dear.  He knew he could make her happy.

Standing in Carolyn’s bedroom he imagined a day in the not too distant future when this would be their bedroom.  His clothes would hang in the closet with hers; their monogrammed towels would occupy towel racks in the bathroom.   Maybe even a baby…definitely a new dog as soon as an undiagnosed illness took JuJu to doggy heaven.  Marco sat on the bed, smiling, then lay back on the pillows and dozed off as the sun shone through the crisp, white curtains.

                                             STALK...

                                     

                       Who's making himself at home....
                                                                      when no one is home?

                        CHAPTER ONE..................

The nose of the white Volvo station wagon peeked out of the hedge surrounding the house on Brainard Road, checking for non-existent traffic.  In truth you were more likely to be run over by a deer out here in the country than an SUV. 

As Carolyn Breightner turned right out of her drive way she adjusted the rear view mirror.  Every time her husband Jeff drove her car she had to reset everything.  Her seat, mirrors and radio station pre-sets reflected his intrusion, and she frowned as she paused to put everything to right.

Just behind her a small black car dimmed its lights as it followed her down the steep hill to the main highway.    Carolyn’s cell phone played a newly loaded Josh Groban song she’d bought as a ring tone; she fumbled in her bag to grab it before the ringing ended.   Looking at the face of her phone, she saw   the caller’s number was blocked.   Irritated by yet another wrong number she tossed the phone back into her bag without answering.  Someone had her number in their contact list by mistake and had been calling her twice a day for weeks.  “Get your hammy fingers on the right keys, dude,” she grumbled.

Her thoughts moved forward into her day, thinking about the presentation she was putting together for her boss.   Working at an ad agency had not proved to be the creative, exciting job she had expected.   Instead she found herself working as a secretary with a title.  Her last ditch effort to land an account was on her computer at work, and if her boss wouldn’t allow her to handle this one she’d be putting her resume together.  “I’m ready for this, and he’s going to realize that once he sits down and sees my ideas,” she thought.

The black car turned off just before the bottom of the hill, and Carolyn was alone on the road as she turned right to head into town. 

                             CHAPTER TWO..........................

Sitting in his small black car just half a block from her driveway, Marco saw Carolyn’s white Volvo slowly emerge from the drive way. He had been in this spot, drinking coffee from a thermos, since six a.m.  His stomach tightened with excitement, and he slid the car into gear and started to follow.

He hit number one on his cell phone, and it automatically dialed Carolyn’s phone number.  “Ah….we’re not answering today,” he said.   Being the courteous person he was, he dimmed his lights so that he didn’t blind her through the rearview mirror. 

It was now seven twenty a.m., and Marco knew that meant Carolyn wasn’t going to the gym before work this morning.  He also knew that meant she would be at the gym at six p.m. this evening, and by seven she would be heading back home wearing leotards and a big, baggy t-shirt that featured a shaggy bear holding a garden tool and the slogan “Hairy Potter” on the front.  It was Marco’s favorite of her workout shirts, and he often dug it out of the basket in Carolyn’s bedroom, pressing it to his face as he looked around the room and imagined her coming through the front door downstairs calling, “Marco, I’m home!”

Yesterday the tee shirt had been washed and folded in a stack of things on the dryer in the laundry room off the kitchen, a sure sign it was in the gym bag she’d thrown into the backseat of her car this morning.  Marco enjoyed knowing the little things about Carolyn’s life that kept them in such close contact. 

Some day they would laugh about these things while they snuggled in the king sized bed together.  Carolyn had a wonderful sense of humor and Marco looked forward to the day when she knew the whole story of how he chose her and waited for her. 

He made a right hand turn near the bottom of the hill.  As Carolyn went on her way he followed the circular driveway and doubled back to make the left onto Brainard Road.  He was headed back up to hill to Carolyn’s driveway in the watery early morning light.   

 

 

Last year on September 16th I wrote my first blog. Since that time i've posted nearly ninety different columns.  Believe me no one is more surprised about that than I am. 

 

For those of you who don't know, I started my broadcast career as a copywriter....being "promoted"from full time receptionist to part time copywriter and part time receptionist at WMAN Radio in the 70's.   Like so many jobs in small market radio, someone had to fill the opening and I was chosen, not for my talent, but for my willingness to do anything assigned to me.   I picked it up as I went and found I really enjoyed it.  It is a love that has lasted all my life, and as my career advanced and my  responsibilities changed I grew to write less and less.  That's called growing up...I think.

 

Now I'm retired from radio and enjoying my current incarnation as Editor to Heart of Ohio Magazine.  This has been a challenge and an honor; every time we come up with a story that hits home with our readers I'm on cloud nine. 

 

You might think turning out stories for six magazines a year would be enough....add to that the blog postings.  But like the TV commercials say, "But Wait...There's More!"  No, I can't give you "two for one" pricing or knock off a payment if you buy now.....but I am going to post a story I worked on last winter.  It seems that once you turn on the "writing tap" you can't stop the flow. 

 

I hope STALK holds your interest as long as it did mine to write it.  Beginning tomorrow the thirty chapters of the story will be posted in two chapter increments each Sunday.   It's an experiment that I hope you enjoy. 

 

LIFE IS GOOD

 

A Few Years Ago

1990.  It’s funny, but when I say “a few years” ago that’s the era I’m talking about.   It is almost impossible for me to believe that was well over twenty years ago. 

I have always known that I have an abstract mind…give me a concrete task and I am bored within a very short period of time.  I think that’s what I like most about the writing I do now; starting with a blank page agrees with me.  Just like the rest of my life, I prefer make it up as I go.

Perhaps that was the appeal of the *Richland Carrousel Park project.  When I took the job as first director the building was nearing completion, but empty except for one brown desk phone that sat on the smooth concrete floor.   My information and instruction consisted of the fact that the carousel mechanism would be coming, the animals were being carved (some finished pieces were displayed around town) and there you go………..

The carousel project was unpopular in town because the land had been acquired by imminent domain and sold to RCP.  A dozen bars were being relocated, and the downtown was being turned in the direction of “family friendly”.  Some people in the downtown were not happy about making that turn.

A lot of Mansfield residents didn’t realize that the city was not building this project; as jobs continued to leave town the man on the street was angry that his tax dollars were not being used to create and keep jobs.   One of the first tasks was to educate people that this was a private money effort to make Mansfield more attractive to any prospective businesses who might want to locate here.  The carousel was the centerpiece of a project to reclaim and rejuvenate the downtown; it was a big job then and continues to be a challenge today.

Every day, working toward the grand opening, I tried to form a clear picture of what I needed to accomplish.   I started at the library, taking out every book they had on carousels and how they had/were run.  RCP was the first hand carved wooden carousel to go up in the US in sixty years, so there was no glut of information.   I made a trip to Hartford Connecticut to see their carousel in the downtown park; taking notes, making lists and taking pictures had become a full time job.  I researched tokens, and found the company who made the New York City subway tokens; they made our carousel tokens.  How much easier it would all be today with computers and the internet.

Slowly the picture formed in my mind, and as the work progressed on the construction of the “merry go round” itself I put a plan together.   Everyone at the Chamber of Commerce, Main Street Mansfield and the RCP board was supportive and helpful….but none of us had ever done this before. 

                                                                  ######

When the building construction was complete the day for the final walk through arrived.  The construction foreman took me through every inch of the building, the fire suppression system, electrical system….and finally we stood on the sidewalk outside the pavilion.

“Let’s go up on the roof so I can show you how to get into the cupola to change the bulb,” he said seriously.

“Oh, that’s okay……………” my voice trailed off as my throat tightened in panic.

He insisted, and the next thing I knew I was following him up a ladder onto the roof of the carousel without informing him I am afraid of heights.   And I don’t mean the “oh dear” afraid of heights……I mean the “I’m about to die a miserable death” fear of heights that locks the joints and clamps the eyes tightly shut.  

He climbed up on the roof and looked down at me as I hung on for dear life.  I had somehow managed to get to the top of the ladder.  Now, awkwardly poised not quite on the roof and not fully on the top rung, I had become a study in still life.   In short, I froze.    Days seemed to pass, maybe even a season or two…and as my panic stabilized my embarrassment took over.

The construction foreman’s name is gone from my memory banks; his patience in getting me down off that ladder will live in my mind forever.  He did not burst into gales of laughter, even though I’m sure that was his first instinct.   Blessedly, he managed to talk me down off that roof; gently lifting me off the last three rungs, he placed me firmly on the ground.    Without a word we finished the walk through, and he never mentioned the incident again.   Now THAT is a gentleman.

                                                                             ######

The man at the cook out who bet me money that the carousel would not be built got a “first ride”.   The school children from the library got their “first ride” the day before the grand opening.  Local dignitaries and project contributors got the “inaugural ride”…..but in truth I had the very first ride on the carousel.  

The center pole, the huge mast that supports the weight of the entire carousel, had been stored in a barn; when it was inspected it was found to be infested with termites.  No center pole…no carousel.   The new center pole came from a ship builder; it is a ships mast.    After all the drama, the huge piece of wood was delivered and the work began on putting the jigsaw together.  It was an exciting day as the crew delivered the huge pole, maneuvering it through the doors and pulling it up into position.   I will never forget the sight.

Day after day the structure grew; finally the carousel had “bones”.  The metal structure hung from the pole, soon the floor would be put into place.   One day, as I sat working in my office, a workman came in and asked me to come into the pavilion.    A handful of the fellows were standing around grinning; they had decided I should have the first ride.   Standing on a metal cross piece, without benefit of a floor, I held on for dear life as the guys pushed the carousel around while they laughed and clapped.   It was exhilarating  to have gotten this far and to know it was going to keep forming day by day.

                                                                    ####

Eventually the grand opening day arrived.  The benches were attached to the carousel floor at the very last minute while the crowd waited at the doors.   Everything checked out for the inaugural ride.   Then it was time for political speeches and the ribbon cutting.  The crowd pushed in to stand in line or just stand and admire.   It was finally happening.

The work week before the grand opening was long; the weekend celebration was non-stop and grueling.  We had lots of volunteers, my whole family and my friends pitched in, the RCP board members put on aprons and served popcorn and refreshments….it all came together and it was an amazing time. 

By the end of the first day I was totally out of gas; the anticipation and preparation had taken every ounce of strength I possessed.  My poor husband and children had been living with an absentee wife and mom; their patience with my compulsion and their loving support was a testament to what families are all about.

One of the last groups was getting on the carousel that evening, and I was helping get a wheelchair fastened down before the ride began.  As I knelt to secure the wheel I felt hands on my shoulders; I turned to be grabbed in a big bear hug.  The wheelchair held a young retarded girl, her grin stretched from ear to ear.  As she embraced me she said, “Thank you!”  I just melted, and as I looked at her completely happy face the fatigue fell away from me; I heard the tinkling music and looked out over the happy crowd.  The day was totally redefined at that moment and I was so thankful for the opportunity to be a part of such a wonderful day.

All these years later Richland Carrousel Park is still going strong; I couldn’t be happier about that if I tried.  I believe the community has embraced it for what it truly is……a happy place.   A few years ago it came full circle for me (no pun intended) as I sat in one of the rockers with a grandchild in my lap.   As I kissed to top of this warm, wiggly little girl’s head I could only send up a heartfelt…“Yes!”

                                                                   Life is Good

*Richland Carrousel Park: The extra “r” was added by one of the project originators, Carol Buterra Dutton, who was director of Main Street Mansfield at the time.  She preferred the English spelling because it set RCP apart and made a better looking logo.