The Brief Reign of Pharoh Ho-Ho and the Queen of Denial
Jonathan Farlow
Marilyn Misenheimer is a lot of things but I never pictured her as a scrooge. Pushy, yes; self-centered yes, snooty, Lord yes; but a scrooge? I would never have believed it. I mean she's always decked out in green and red for the whole month of December and she's sure to send Christmas cards and fudge to the library. Besides that their house out on Well's Creek Boulevard is so lit up at Christmastime, just like the rest of them along that street, that you'd think that planes would try and land there. But if Scrooge can learn to love Christmas in the span of one night, I guess Marilyn can learn the reverse in 12.3 seconds, 12.3 being the exact time that it took her to lose her footing on the top step in front of her house, crash down right on her butt and slide down the rest of the way on her seat, her tail bone hitting every step on the way down.
I guess I should back up. It was December 18th. I remember that because it was a week before Christmas and it had snowed the night before. Now if you think that Southerners go nuts when it snows, you haven't seen anything, boy, because it was seven days until Christmas, there was snow on the ground and the weather nerds were forecasting more. For the first time since Strom Thurmon wore short pants there was a chance, however slight, that this year white Christmas just might be something besides a song by Bing Crosby.
From what I hear this all put Marilyn's panties in a bunch. She's a Yankee, coming from somewhere in Connecticut, and just doesn't get it. Somebody told me that she had been to the grocery store the afternoon before just as the snow had started to fall and got caught in the throng to buy bread, milk and beer and was lucky to get out alive. She said that the shelves were picked clean and that all she could get out of there with was a can of lima beans, two cans of sour kraut, a pack of hot dogs and a bottle of wild Irish rose.
I guess that got the old scrooge ball rolling and set the stage for a total breakdown of Christmas spirit. Said breakdown occurring at the time previously mentioned as Marilyn went outside for the morning paper. Another thing that Marilyn has never liked about this Southern snow, and in this respect I can't blame her, is that there's so much ice mixed in with the white stuff. It's not like the powdery, cottony snow that she remembered from growing up in New England. All that a light snow like we had gotten did (light in Yankee standards meaning about three inches) was to make everything-streets, sidewalks, the Misenheimer's front steps, everything as slick as glass.
One other factor that I feel should be figured into the equation of Marilyn's Scroogeness was that she was in a hurry. She had gotten her boys out of bed, which as usual was like shooting pool with a rope. She got the oldest one, Marshall, who was out of school for the holidays as far as the shower and had gotten her youngest, Martin, breakfast and had sat him in front of the T.V. where he normally was at that time of day (Martin was home schooled). Not that Marilyn ever had anything against the Welbourne County school system. Well, she did but she would never admit that. While county schools were good enough for Marshall who, and she did love him dearly, was about as smart as a sack of hammers, she did not feel that the type of person whom that particular school system would hire could do an exceptional child like Martin's intellectual level justice. No, Martin was small for his age, sickly and asthmatic, but very intelligent. There was no doubt in his mother's mind that when he did take an I.Q. test, that he would register at a genius level. No, Marilyn just couldn't trust her son's education to anyone but herself and what few tutors that she had brought in.
So we've got anxiety brought on by the bizarre behavior of the Southern populace over the snow and the faint chance that there might be a white Christmas added to the amount of ice in this particular snowfall added to the fact that she had a hard time getting her sons out of bed and was in a hurry. The sum of those parts is the fall that Marilyn took down her front steps where she ended up on the sidewalk propped up against the steps for a good minute, legs spread, robe open, nightgown pulled up around her chest in front of God and everybody. This product of the previous equation when in turn added to the other parts of the formula produced one result: It did a lot to dampen the holiday spirit of Mrs. Marilyn Misenheimer.
As it turns out God and everybody was limited to the Lord, the Welsh corgi from next door and perhaps the paper boy, although Marilyn wasn't sure on his account, but when she was able to pull herself up by the handrail, she saw him riding away faster than usual. She couldn't see his face but she wouldn't have been surprised if he was laughing. He was just that kind of boy. She made a mental note to contact his employer although she never did. Her mind got onto other things.
She stood there on the sidewalk with two wobbly legs beneath her before she tried to climb back up the steps. Her rear end was already throbbing with the pain which had started to spread up into her lower back and down into the backs of her legs. She forgot the paper and took it one step at a time until she was able to climb in the front door and make it to the couch. Martin was just where she left him, same position, same expression, totally oblivious to his Mommy limping by. The sight of him sitting there glued to the idiot box helped to change Marilyn's anxiety and pain into a seething anger that was usually reserved for anybody but Martin.
"Martin, it's time to get ready your clothes are on the chair." By some miracle his mother's voice got through ten inches of solid granite and Martin whirled around from Batman like the Joker had gotten a hold of him. There was a commercial for a local jewelry store on at the time and this obviously accounted for the boob tube's hold on him being a bit weaker than usual.
"I'm not finished eating."
"I'll make you a breakfast sandwich," she said heading into the kitchen. "You can eat it on the way to the library."
Marilyn made the sandwich and then got an icepack that Mr. Misenheimer kept in the freezer for his bowler's shoulder and slid it down the back of her underwear. The pressure hurt, but it didn't take the cold long to numb the pain, so she took two Excedrin, went upstairs, roused Marshall from where he slept standing up in the shower and herded him into his room to get ready. Then, looking in the mirror she closely examined her wound and saw that it was already turning blue. She got dressed, made a mental note to get some Icyhot and went back down to find Martin standing in front of the T.V. in his underwear and socks holding his pants out in front of him still infatuated with Batman. She turned the T.V. off and with a voice sharp enough to cut diamonds told Martin to get dressed. She ordered his brother, who was asleep with his head on the kitchen table, to help her load Martin's Ancient Egypt project into their Lincoln Navigator and Mr. Misenheimer's truck. She winced as she very slowly slid behind the wheel of the Navigator and motioned for Marshall, who was manning the truck, to follow them out of the driveway. They had not gone two feet when she stopped and sent Martin into the house to get another icepack and some cushions off the couch.
Caroline Baker's day started out similar to Marilyn's although her love for the Christmas season was a great deal more resolute and the trials of the morning did little to dim her love for the season. Whereas the beginning of Marilyn's bad day was marked by her trip down her front steps, Caroline's was signaled by her stepping out of bed and into a fresh hairball. The morning continued its downward spiral as she actually kept a dentist appointment that she had made for 7 a.m. Her fear for such appointments bordered on phobia but things did get better as soon as the doctor administered Nitrous Oxide and at once she was soaring over the Mediterranean with Brad Pitt, her three cats, a puppy she had owned as a child and the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz.
Caroline's roller coaster of a day took another dip as the gas wore off and she was presented with the bill which had not taken her insurance into consideration. Fifteen minutes late for work she drove as fast as she dared on the ice toward the library, which, as it turns out, was not fast enough as three idiots in a large pickup tailgated her the entire way.
By the time that she crossed Main on Cox and slowed down to turn into the parking lot, she was forty-five minutes late. Plus she followed Marilyn Misenheimer down the hill. Marilyn Misenheimer, one of the library's biggest supporters; Marilyn Misenheimer, parent of Welbourne County's only child prodigy; Marilyn Misenheimer, Miss kiss-my-feet, roll-out-the-red-carpet, forget-policy-and-bring-me-whatever-I-demand-on-a-silver-encrusted-tray-with-diamonds. Caroline guessed that Marilyn's broom was in the shop because she was pulling in the library parking lot in a brand new Lincoln Navigator. The dealer tags were still on it. Her oldest, Marshall, was behind her in a Dodge Ram pick-up truck. Both vehicles were loaded to the rim with what looked to Caroline to be garbage. The "Divine Miss. M," as the library employees called Marilyn, was just about to turn in when Purdie Mae Pierce and her gentleman friend Rufus walked right out in front of her heading for the library's front entrance. Marilyn had to slam on the brakes and fishtail to a stop before she hit anybody or anything. Marshall, who was following an inch behind her, did the same, but plowed right into the back of the Lincoln. Caroline was following the customary two seconds behind Marshall, but still had to hit the brakes hard and did a 180 right there in the middle of the street. Her back bumper missed the truck's by millimeters and she ended up half on the sidewalk facing the other direction. Caroline was dazed for a few seconds, not dissimilar to how Marilyn felt after her fall an hour earlier, and, when she looked around, the Misenheimers were very slowly pulling on into the parking lot. Caroline just knew that she was stuck, but she put the car in low gear, very slowly pressed the gas and, praise glory and hallelujah, it started moving. She crept up the hill, turned left at the light and circled the block, still crawling, and went into the parking lot through the back entrance.
The staff parking area is at the rear away from the building so she got out, gathered her stuff and her wits and was still able to slip slide down past the Misenheimers and beat them to the door.
Marilyn found the nearest parking spot and got out without even turning off the motor. There was a large dent in the back. The bumper was actually curled up in the middle and one of Martin's projects which was in the back, a section of the Nile that he had recreated in a wading pool, had ruptured and water was trickling out under the tail gate and pouring onto the ground.
"You stopped real sudden," was all that Marshall had to say and, before she could stop herself (Marilyn tried not to yell in front of Martin as it upset him and he got nosebleeds), she just screamed her son's name and in return got the matter of fact expression that had been so irritating her for the last several minutes.
"Marshall!" She walked over to him and grabbed hold of the lapels of her coat so hard it hurt but it kept her hands from around his throat. "When a car stops in front of you, aren't you supposed to stop as well? You've had your license for a year now; it looks like you would have figured that out! Did they not teach you that in Driver's Ed?" All he did was give that universal shrug of the shoulders that all teenagers know, and which means I don't know and could really care less. Then in the silence that followed he looked down and watched the little river of dank water that was running between his feet.
She let go of her coat and spied a wooden ankh in the back of the SUV with which to beat her son senseless when Caroline Baker walked by. Marilyn thrust her hands into her pockets, forced a smile and said hello, although she never could remember that girl's name. Caroline had heard Marilyn's caterwauling when she opened her car door and the smile that the woman gave her looked like a cross between a hound dog sitting on a tack and a constipated bull frog so Marilyn's quick attempt at decorum fell way short of the mark. Caroline simply smiled back and nodded hello, all the while dividing an equal amount of concentration between keeping a straight face as well as keeping her footing on the slick asphalt.
As soon as she was out of earshot Marilyn told the boys as calmly and as relaxed as she could to unload the vehicles and get the project up to the children's room. That's when Marshall opened the Navigator's tailgate and half the project fell out onto the pavement.
While Marilyn was ranting at her children and Caroline was doing her best to get to the library entrance as fast as she could without falling down, Gladys Finch, head of children's services for the Welbourne County Public Library, was putting the final touches on the display of their Storytime Group's gingerbread houses.
The children's room has about a dozen children who regularly attend the story times on Tuesday mornings and Thursday nights. The fact that these children attend so religiously gave Gladys the idea of starting a group, sort of a Friends of the Library for the children's room where any age child could come and meet outside of story time. She had started the group the previous March and, other than the story times, the children watched movies, listened to guest speakers and enjoyed entertainers, clowns, magicians and the sort. In addition they had done projects. For the Storytime Group's first Christmas they all made gingerbread houses. Gladys found a short children's story about a gingerbread house, read it, and had someone come from the arts guild to help the children, or in some cases help the parents make gingerbread houses. Gladys had intended to display the houses for a day or two before the children took them home, because she thought that they turned out great and that it would please the children to see their work on display. Then Marilyn Misenheimer gloomed in.
Caroline made it in and upstairs in time to tell Gladys that the three m's were in the parking lot so she had time to circle the wagons and load the muskets. Marilyn Misenheimer had been coming into the library since Gladys had been working there. She had always been a friend of the library as well as a big pain in Gladys's rather ample butt. She was bad before Gladys had been there, then she had Martin and she was worse, then she decided on home schooling the little prodigy, as she called him and she was hell on wheels. She was of the mind that only she could educate the little genius and that it was the library's responsibility to assist her in any way she saw fit.
Yes, Gladys was warned. She had time to get ready, but no amount of mental, physical or spiritual preparation could ready her for the sight of a very irritated and haggard-looking Marilyn Misenheimer limping through the door of the children's room followed by her oldest son Marshall wheeling a seven-foot Egyptian sarcophagus on a hand truck, nor her youngest son Martin, the genius, carrying what appeared to be a mummified rat in a casserole dish.
Gladys was in shock. It happened a lot to a great many people that day and Marilyn had to repeat herself when she announced that Martin's project on ancient Egypt was there for display. Gladys could only sit at her desk and look up at her for a few seconds, almost afraid to speak because of Marilyn's disheveled and vexed appearance. It appeared to Gladys that she had been rode hard and hung up wet. She did work at it, however, until she could finally form the words and spit them out. "Umm, you were signed up for January. We aren't reserving the children's room during December."
"What?" Marilyn's words were quicker and shaper than usual, and normally they could slice through steel, but on this day they did have a little extra barb to them. "I reserved this room in September to display Martin's project this month and here we are. We're a week late. I'm surprised you haven't been calling."
Gladys stopped again just to gather her thoughts. She eyed the rat as she opened her desk drawer and got out the schedule in an attempt prove her side of the case.
"See here," Marilyn snapped pulling the binder from Gladys' hand as she sat it down on the counter. "Here is my signature on the month of December." She spun the calendar around and tapped that month with a broken fingernail while Gladys took some more time to register it.
"But this month is clearly x'ed out, meaning that this month is not available. The story time group has it to display their......"
"Well, you should have been more specific. Martin has his heart set on displaying his project this month. Now you're going to ask him to wait?" As if on cue Martin snorted savagely in a vain attempt to stifle the deluge of mucus that always seemed to pour from his nose. He looked up at Gladys with that million mile stare of his which through bottle-bottom glasses made his blue eyes look the size of dinner plates.
"Uh yes, well, I'll tell you what I can do. I can give you the months of January and February. We normally only reserve for a month at a time, but since Martin is so eager to display his project and since he'll have to wait, I'll let him display whatever he wants for the first two months of the new year. Again, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, but that's the best that I can do." Marilyn just stood there, quiet for several seconds, letting Gladys squirm for a moment and then looked down at Martin who was engrossed in the screen saver on one of the public access catalog terminals.
"Very well." She was actually agreeing and for that you could have knocked Gladys over with a feather, but the sound of her voice made Gladys brace for the worst and she started a mental countdown to what Marilyn would say next. 10, 9, 8, 7....
While this exchange was occurring Caroline was in another part of the library wasting time so that she wouldn't have to deal with Marilyn Misenheimer and the rest of the Addams family. She had gone straight into the Children's room to let Gladys know that hurricane Marilyn was brewing, but then took off under the pretext of seeing the business manager concerning the problem with her dental insurance. In that part she was truthful, because she did intend to see the business manager who was out sick. After leaving a note on her door, however, she went into the bathroom to look at her face in the mirror. The novocaine hadn't quite worn off so she wanted to check and make sure that she did not look like the elephant man. After that she checked the children's room's shelf in the workroom to see if Technical Services had sent them any new books, asked Ann in Administration about her new grandbaby and goo-gooed over all the pictures, asked Michael in reference how his boil lancing went, re-tarred the parking lot, fed the hog and did anything else that would stall her from getting back to the Children's Room until the M's were gone. Alas, it did not work out that way. As Caroline finally crept into the children's room Gladys and the Wicked Witch of Welbourne County were having some sort of silent stand off over the desk. Neither woman noticed Caroline come in but Marshall who had been leaning on the hand truck and picking some of the paper mache off of the sarcophagi, greeted her nod and smile with a dim leer and looked at her butt as she passed by him. When she took her place behind Glady's chair in a sign of solidarity, his eyes were still lingering below her waist.
"Well, come on Martin," Marilyn was saying. Martin wiped his nose on an already crusty coat sleeve and looked toward Gladys before looking back at his mother. "Mrs. Finch says that you can't display you project here. I know you're disappointed, but we'll ask Daddy if he can display it in the mill office. Say goodbye and come along."
Oh give it up. Caroline thought. A guilt trip, I can't believe that even she would try something this tacky. It wasn't like her. Neither librarian would have been surprised if she had whined back to her husband who was as close as two peas in a pod with Wade Burgess, the county manager, who was, in turn, Elaine Russell, the library director's boss. But to whip out the violins. Caroline saw this as a new low and what opinion she had of Marilyn dipped even lower although she began to see what she was doing and, as Gladys got up from her chair and came around the desk to walk them out, she could see that it was working. Caroline always saw Gladys as an excellent librarian, a great boss and a good friend, but she also knew that she was a push over. She had a heart as big as her belly and it was all to easy for an old battle-ax like Marilyn Misenheimer to use sugar where vinegar had failed and pull Gladys' heart strings until she got her way.
"Martin, let's go. These ladies are too busy to talk to us. Come on." Martin looked up and gave a soft sniff before he turned and slumped along behind her.
"Stay strong, girlfriend." Caroline whispered to Gladys and laid a hand on her back. "Hold your ground."
"There. How's it look?" Gladys asked as she finished stringing multicolored Christmas lights on the sarcophagi.
"So, who's he now?" Caroline chuckled from behind her. "Pharaoh Ho-Ho?"
"Good one." Gladys said, taking a Santa hat off of her own head and putting it on the pharaoh's. "How's it look?"
"It looks like a drunken soiree at Anwar Sadat's house."
"I know it's tacky," Gladys said as she started backing down off the ladder. "But at least it's festive." She stepped back beside Caroline and they both bowed reverently at the waist out of respect for the royal figure who now stood before them. Pharaoh Ho-Ho, as he was called from that point on. Gladys then started across the children's room, leaving the ladder for Caroline to get. "Bring that ladder, I've got a Santa beard that'll look cute on the sphinx."
When Gladys had reluctantly agreed to display Martin's project she had in mind finding some space for the pharaoh and a table top for the rat and a few other knick-knacks. Maybe a poster showing the life cycle of the ibis or the techniques used in making papyrus, something like that. What she got was an exhibit worthy of the British Museum. This elementary grade level project included, in addition to the rat and the sarcophagi, a four-by-four-by-four foot pyramid which could be entered and where one could view a cut-out of the great pyramid of Giza complete with a translation of the hieroglyphics. Also, there was a rather imposing bust of the Sphinx which reached the ceiling and was soon to be adorned with a homemade Santa beard. A complete section of the Nile was reproduced in a badly dented and duct taped wading pool and so many do dads were brought in that it all made the children's room look like Saturday at a flea market. Gladys bit her lip as the M's hauled it all in and walked out without a thank you, a how-do-you-do, kiss-my-foot or anything. All she could do after they were gone was look over at Caroline, who was returning same expression, and hum Joy to the World.
Caroline was in the process of stapling antlers to the rat, taking time out to spray Poison perfume on it, herself, and the air around them both to try and cut the stink. Gladys frantically sprayed the air around her with air freshener and talked to Mrs. M on the telephone at the same time.
"Yes Ma'am. I know that I promised to display Martin's Egyptian project through January and I intend to do that, but something has to be done about that rat." There was a pause and Caroline moved closer spraying as she went. "Because it stinks. It smells really bad........ I know that Martin followed the exact procedure that the Ancient Egyptians......I know that he used all reputable sources. You've already told me that, but that doesn't change the fact that it's running everybody out. Yes......Yes.......I know..........Yes........Okay......Yes, Thank you very much.....Well you see........Hello....Hello." Gladys hung up the phone and sprayed another long burst in the rat's direction. "Do you think that the smell would be worth keeping her away?"
From the sound that issued from her lips Gladys and Caroline could tell when Marilyn came into the children's room even though their backs were turned. It started low like a moan that could be heard coming from a crypt at Halloween and rose in pitch and volume until it became a glass splitting wail that Caroline was pretty sure could kill dogs at fifty paces. The sound was nothing compared to the sight of the ghoulish apparition that wobbled into the children's room that afternoon and stared at Pharaoh Ho-Ho like a banshee hungry for a soul.
Marilyn couldn't believe it! Martin's sarcophagi was draped with flickering, multi-colored Christmas lights and was wearing a Santa hat on its head. As she went into the main part of the children's room, she could see that almost all of Martin's project had been defaced with some sort of tacky Christmas decoration. The Sphinx was wearing a ratty old white beard, and the pyramid, her favorite, Martin's pride and joy, had glass Christmas balls taped all over it. When Gladys walked over holding the rat in her hand, it was all that Marilyn could do to keep her composure long enough to speak to her. She asked the librarian what is the meaning of this. That this is a child's project. This is his educational development being turned into a dog and pony show. Gladys was quick to tell her that she reserved the right to make any changes to the children's room displays that she saw fit. The whole time Caroline watched from behind the desk with a glare that to Marilyn looked like a cat with her claws out. At that point Marilyn simply wanted to leave. The fight had been drained out of her and all she wanted to do was to get out before she said or did something that she would regret. She excused herself to leave when Gladys held out the rat, which now had antlers fastened to its head, and ordered her to take it as she went. Marilyn could feel her head start to throb along with her behind and her chin which sported a slight burn from the coffee that she had spilled on herself on the way over. She just stood stiff. Back straight, legs locked, arms down by her sides and hands in tight fists to the point that they began to throb as well. Gladys spoke again complaining about the way the rat smelled, and Marilyn just had to get out. She wanted to leave that room and that building, get in her car, get home with no further mishaps, crawl into bed and pray that the ground beneath her didn't crack open and swallow her whole. She planned on taking the rat and walking away, turning the other cheek and being the better person. Anything to get this day over with, but no, that wasn't in the cards. Marilyn grabbed the rat by the tail and jerked it toward her. It was then that the tail broke and the rat went sailing across the children's room and hit the big plate glass window between the children's room and the reading area, leaving little gray hairs and a watery yellow substance that sort of splattered and started running down the glass. The rat bounced off one of the low metal shelves underneath the window and fell into a stocking hung in front of a styrofoam chimney with care that was in turn flanked with clay statues of Horus and Osirus. Everybody who saw the exchange between Marilyn and Gladys either covered their mouth and pretended to cough or turned around and tried not to laugh. Mrs. M. fished the rat out, stuffed it into her pocket book and left looking a lot like someone who had found a turd in her corn flakes.
Gladys had always wanted to take the high road when dealing with troublesome patrons, Marilyn included. She tried to live her life personally and professionally by the good book. Regardless, it did her heart good to see the great Marilyn Misenheimer embarrass herself right in the middle of the children's room and stomp out, hopefully for good. She saw it as some sort of victory; she had faced the dragon; she had killed Goliath. That is until Mitchell Misenheimer came back not an hour after his wife had left. She was not with him, just Marshall, who was wheeling the same dolly that he had used to bring everything in that morning. Mitchell set Marshall to work taking everything out and then he asked to see Elaine. No Wade Burgess go-between this time; he wanted to speak to Elaine in person and when Caroline called to let her know he was here Elaine had her to walk him to her office.
Gladys started to question herself at this point, as we all do when caught playing burr to someone else's saddle. Okay, maybe I wasn't decorating Martin's project just to be festive. She thought, still staring towards the children's room door. Maybe it was a way to beat Marilyn, to prove to her that this is my show and I still have control. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do. No, it wasn't the right thing to do. Gladys knew that from the beginning. It wasn't the right thing to do and as soon as Mr. Misenheimer had walked in that realization plopped down into the pit of her stomach like a lacquered gumdrop. She was so nervous that several times she made excuses to go back to administration. She needed to go to the storeroom to get more construction paper. She needed to go to the bathroom. She wanted to take a break, but each time Elaine's door was shut and nothing could be heard coming from the other side.
Gladys was standing right there when it opened and Elaine led Mitchell out. He smiled at her and nodded his head cordially before he headed down the hall towards the public area. Elaine was leaving for the day. She already had her hat and coat on and her brief case in one hand. Reading the anxiety that Gladys had written across her face Elaine put the other hand gently on her elbow and simply said, "Don't worry about a thing." It was all Gladys could do to say thank you as Elaine locked her office door. She was answered with a quiet smile and the director headed down the hall as well. It was such a relief. Gladys wasn't going to be fired, or written up, tortured or shot at dawn. The Misenheimers and Wade Burgess weren't going to strap her to the pyramid and beat her with mummified rats. All she could do was to go back to the children's room, sit on a corner of the desk and watch Mitchell and Marshall take that stuff away. The only evidence that it had ever been there was the gunk that the rat had left on the window. The housekeeper had to scrub for a good half hour with a rag dipped in kerosene for the crud to finally come off. Even today if you look at that window at just the right angle you can still see a faint stain, almost like a smudge or the pharaoh's handprint on the glass.
That night Martin Misenheimer enjoyed a break from his mother and a well deserved vacation from her educational methods. To start his holiday he turned on the T.V. and surfed through the channels, but nothing was on. He considered playing Xbox for awhile but he was bored with all his games and hoped that he would get new ones for Christmas. The box set of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings that his brother gave him for his birthday still sat on his desk in the plastic, but he really wanted a break from books as well. All he wanted to do that night as his mother enjoyed a much needed drug induced coma was sit at his window and watch it snow.
Mrs. Marilyn Misenheimer quit teaching her son at her husband's insistence. She quit the Friends of the Library and joined the local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution. That chapter disbanded shortly thereafter. Martin Misenheimer is presently attending Ophelia Mann Elementary School in Ashewood Falls. He is happy, contented, and all his health problems have disappeared. Marshall Misenheimer quit school, left home and is following the band Phish as they tour the country. Gladys Finch has retired and runs a bakery called Pharaoh Ho-Ho's specializing in gingerbread houses as well as cakes and pastries with an Egyptian theme. Caroline Baker was promoted to children's librarian. Pharaoh Ho-Ho somehow made his way back to the library where Caroline keeps him in the storeroom. Every Christmas she brings him out and lights him up.