From: Janine Knopf, Head of Decorative Wax Fruit Design and Manufacturing
I guess some dreams have to die.
Ever since I was eight years old and my Dad ran off with a floozy from Akron and my Mom ran off with a fundamentalist Baptist from Cedarville, I’ve wanted to visit Ohio. I watched every rerun of The Brady Bunch, WKRP in Cincinnati, and The Drew Carey Show I could get my hands on. I’ve had my Lebron James posters and treated him like he was the best person on the planet, then the worst person on the planet, then the best person on the planet again, and then like an ex who I absolutely can’t forgive even though if I’m honest I can kind of see where he’s coming from. I’ve even mailed my phone number and a photo of someone who looks much better than I do to the statehouse in Columbus in hopes that I’ll get some hot, hot sexting from Rick Perales.
It was all for naught.
I got some terrible news from the nursing home. My grandmother is gravely hypochondriac, and she’s going to call me between midnight and 2 am four to six times a week needing me to come in to help her with some ailment or another. It won’t be anything real, and the doctors have promised that she’s going to outlive me, but nobody knows what she’ll do if I don’t show up. We just know it’s going to be tragic, probably involving catheters, opiates, and Mr. Bellows again. In any event, traveling is going to be completely impossible for the rest of my life.
I hope someone will be able to enjoy these issues of Ohio Magazineas much as I did. I truly loved reading and rereading every issue, but now I the pain of the memory is just too great.
(At some point, I’m going to need to find out if Mr. Bellows is a person or a tool for the fireplace.)