“Their memory is a blessing forever. Amen.”
Harold Crab’s editorial in the Sunday paper was all about “the weekend that ran like a well-greased wheel.” He’d even gone so far as to thank Acting Mayor Gladys McKern “who dedicated herself above and beyond the call of her duty” to see that Partonville got its due. (He didn’t mention the square fiasco, figuring it had already received more than enough ado.) Harold had been at Harry’s the morning Arthur had railed on Gladys; he was glad somebody had silenced her, at least for a spell. But he also truly did appreciate so many things she had single-handedly set in motion, like the booklet, the celebration and the streaming light banner on the new digital ensemble that was put into operation during her proclamations: “WELCOME TO PARTONVILLE: PROUD TO BE 130 YEARS YOUNG!”
Of course, if you were driving by, you might have to circle the square twice before you could read it all, but nonetheless, it did them all proud.
The End
A Note from the Author
I write to you from Partonville. It’s cloudy here today in the northern part of southern Illinois, but just the same, I’m happy to be here circling the square with my friends. Is there anything more delicious than seeing the faces of those we love (whether they’re related to us or not) grinning back at us—even when we’re lost, even when we’re crabby, even when we’re crying, even when we’re just plain old living in Duh-land for a spell? I think not.
As you can tell, my Partonville characters (and they certainly are characters, aren’t they?) have become a part of my Real Life. Just the other day I said something truly crabby. (I know that’s probably shocking to you, but it is true, right dear?) “Yikes!” I shouted after spewing the cantankerous words. “I think Arthur Landers just woke up!” It made me want to run to my keyboard and stare off into that mysterious “creative space” to see what he was up to!
Of course, I wished I could more often catch myself cooking like May Belle, playing the saxophone as passionately as Nellie Ruth (okay, know how to play it at all) and being as sweet as Jessica Joy rather than cranking around like Arthur; but the reality is, I never stop desiring to grow up to be my Dearest Dorothy.
Most importantly, however, I continue to hang out with my Partonville friends because they model to us what matters most in life: faith, family and friends.
—Charlene Ann Baumbich
www.welcometopartonville.com
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Dearest Dorothy, Help! I've Lost Myself! Page 25