Ohio, Part 3: Okay, maybe the outfits were a bit dressy. But it shouldn't have been. He followed

his wife and little girl out to the hotel lobby.  As they made their way back to the room, he couldn't help but to notice snarlish glances coming from a few women.  

Why?  

He could only conclude, his wife and daughter had committed some sort of crime for wearing crinoline dresses in public.  

While fishing in his pocket for a cigar, as he headed out the door, he heard an elderly woman's voice, softly exclaiming,"...such dears, edna."  Finding a spot, politely away from the entrance, to light up, Ohio turned slightly.  Inside, two old ladies, one in a skirted suit, the other was either wearing a dress or a jumper - was hard to tell, the later was wearing a rather thick sweater, on this june evening.  Likely the old woman's next to last trip with her friends; she appeared frail.

How do old people deal with ...?

If they're in Christ...no brainer.

One thing Ohio knew, the meeting space would be occupied, come the following day,  with about three dozen members of that particular church group.  Throughout the late afternoon and early evening, he'd seen them amble in - some with walkers - a few on wheelchairs.  Here and there, had arrived a member or two members of that mennonite/baptist - with some calvinist, thrown in the mix - who weren't quite as ancient.

Hopefully, these people were the congregation's old folks.  Ohio had heard it was a for-real enough church, but other than that, he didn't know anything about their demographics.  But he knew the drill.  Most churches, where the Bible is actually preached, were steadily getting older.  To find a church, where there were children and young couples amongst the flock?  Sadly, that was about this side of rare.  

Ohio butted the cigar, squeezed the end to make sure it was out, pocketed the rest for later, then returned to the table.   As the waitress brought over two seltzers, Ohio's wife returned, and took her seat.  

The couple enjoyed the next hour or two, chatting among themselves and with other couples or individuals.  Around ten or so, they returned to the room.  Daniella was fast asleep.  Her parents quietly, but hurriedly, undressed and slipped into bed.  A moment later, the lovely green crinoline made a soft "pooff" as its yardage slipped from a nearly chair onto the carpet. 

Next morning following breakfast:

"One plus one is two, two plus two is four, four plus four..."  Up front, the little girl's parents smiled at one another.  Just ahead, a sign welcomed the family back into their home state.  "Sikteen and sikteen is thirty two..."

As the car continued down the highway, a  similar sort of addition activity was in progress, within the front seat's passenger.

Ohio, Part 2: This one was looking good, he paused, reading the young guy's screen.

The kid looked to be barely old enough to have registered for the workshop.  Eighteen.  Ohio continued reading.  Before moving on, though he wanted to read more, he suggested to the kid to cut in half - if not thirds - his paragraphs.  One appeared to have taken almost an entire page.  Ohio had noticed something else; that something else, he'd also noticed among two or three of the other writers.  

He moved along to the next screen.  It appeared to be a story of an archeological expedition, either in france or in germany.  Sparked his interest, and brought to mind a certain archeological assignment to which his former employer had sent him.  Only to see his article hacked to less than half; the editor even left out...  Didn't matter.  Leaving that paper was the third smartest move he'd ever made in his entire life.  The first, accepting Christ, the second was having met his wife.

And it was time to move on - to the next screen.  They should have made this a three-day, instead of just two days.  But then again, not everyone has the option to work at home and for themselves.  About half the guys could only do a day - maybe just, after driving 200 miles, just the afternoon.

Ugh! What the heck was that?  

Ohio continued by, but a bit faster.  Why was he even here, anyway.  But you'll have this at any writers' conference.  There's bound to be a few, who only come to talk writing, more than actually do the work, go on and on about themselves.  In short, time-trap.

Frankly, Ohio wanted to take and throw the bony load out the window.  A pic of a bikini babe is one thing.  She poses for that, and wants guys to attach it to their emails.  But a little old country lady, with back trouble, just out of the shower and picking up a flannel nightgown to put it on?  The caption was just as sick:  "Gives new meaning to Skinny Cow."  

Out of the corner of his eye, a slow move passed the window.  Ohio's face turned a deep scowl.

Ellen, Part 3: she had been keeping tabs on Ohio, she had researched his history, had read his website.

And neither did she care, that Ohio was steadily gaining influence as a men's rights activist.  As far as she was concerned, he and his merry little band of wannabe writers, could go on all they wanted about the pathetic state of pre and post-wall western women.  Frankly, Ellen agreed with them on that point.  While the men thought it unjust that a wife or girlfriend could walk away with the cash and prizes - and so, more than a few of these guys were upset about imposed international travel restrictions.  Ellen had little regard for breeders, she'd heard enough of their sob-stories pouring out the domestic relations offices.  

Neither did she care, that many - if not most - the red-pillers were interested in young honies, and - except for a one nighter, maybe two or three - were passing over women her age.  As far as Ellen was concerned, getting married was ... you might as well pack it in and check the heck out!  She'd never been married, and sure enough, didn't want even anything monogamous.  At 30-something, she was well equipped, thank-you-very-kindly, to continue upon the carousel.  Ticking bio-clock, the very idea was enough to make her want to barf.  

No, Ellen's beef went far beyond stupid women.  Ohio and company were getting hits, and they were becoming bad for business.  It was the inner circle, that had her most concerned.  They were reaching men, which reason would tell you, these young guys wouldn't be interested.

But there was interest.  Maybe not a whole lot, but more than enough.  Posted upon Ohio's page were several sermons, given by a pastor jason, who lived somewhere in fly-over-ville.  His sermons were getting hits.  Hits from young guys, who were becoming done with the drugs, the music - and the toys.

Bad for business.  

Ellen's master was also becoming concerned with these recent events.

Ellen, Part 2: Why RedPillRiters decided to hold their convention at THIS place,

Ellen rolled her eyes, then took a sip from her NA fruity poolside cocktail.  Just as well, it wouldn't serve this early in the pm, to catch a buzz.  She nudged her companion, who was sitting in a neighboring chaise.

"The poppins has landed."  

Both tittered, the other scoffed, pointing at the young mom, standing in the shallow end, "from which booshka's closet..?"  

A little girl, somewhere between three and four years, wearing an inflatable over her swim-dress, swam around the floating black and floral circle of her mom's swim skirt.  The little girl then pointed to deeper waters.  "Doi-yoing, Mamma!"  

"No,..." The next phrase was, evidently, an endearement that moms used over there, Daddy will..."

"When, Mamma? I wanna go-won th' doi-yoing."

That same phrase again, reaching her ears, Ellen stuck her index finger in her mouth, pretending to gag.  Her companion shook her index, pretending to chide.

"...a bit after we go down to dinner."

Well, that sparked off one or more lewd comments, and some gesturing between Ellen and her travel buddy.  Ellen's phone binged.  She looked at the text-message, which had just come through.  Third one today.  Ellen rolled her eyes, then hit the D-key.  Goodnight! give a gal a few roses, and she gets ideas.   

A boy, on the verge of manhood, had just done a cannonball, while the little girl excitedly twirled and clapped, the life-guard, understandably, was neither high-fiving nor calling, "you ROCK, dude!"

"But Mamma, why can't you take me?"

"[That phrase again] I cannot swim."

"But why, Mamma?"

The woman paused.  She had almost said that where she grew up, there were few lakes and streams. "Oh, because."

Her little Daniella had recently begun asking questions. Did her Momma bake nut rolls?  Is she going to visit when they have turkey?  Did her Daddy write stories, and did he take her to the baseball game? 

Earlier that morning, just after Ohio had departed to the am round of workshops, mother and daughter lingered a bit.  The wait-person had brought a second cup of coffee, and a glass of milk, the talking heads started up - again - on the screen.  Another disagreement...

From a table across the room, a sibera-frigid glare was aimed right at the part, between Mrs O-G's thick braided tresses.  Dear Reader, our young war bride was oblivious.  And why not?  Mrs O, had neither spoken to Ellen - much less kill her kitty kat.  (By the way, Ellen hated cats, and dogs, and goldfish - she didn't like children either.)  

Ellen was just being Ellen.

Mrs. Ohio-Guy, Part 1: They'd just goeen home from wednesday service. Ohio was in his office, and

Mrs. O-G was in the livingroom.  Embroidery gear at hand, she was working a pattern along an edge of soft cotton.  She laid it aside and entered the kitchen; the teakettle had whistled.  Setting it on the trivet, she reached into the frig to pour her daughter a cup of milk.  The girl tottled over, took a seat at the table and took sips between humming a song they all had sang, hardly an hour ago.

"...that's no surprise..." Came her husband's voice from the office, which adjoined the dining room.  "Should have cut-n-pasted...yeah, partially believe it...  Where?  ...Okay, will check that out, thanks."  He savored a sip or two of his wife's tea.  A few seconds later, another bing.  "...uhm, better idea...snail that."  

After three, going on four, years, Mrs. O-G yet had difficulty with understanding english.  She could read it well enough, but the ever changing slang - and the marked increase of code words...ugh!  And frankly, there were things - namely, what the men were discussing- she just flat out didn't want to know.  As in, too close to home.  But simply pounding sand in your ears, isn't wise.  

But steering clear of news, wasn't booking a flight-fancy from reality.  While the jargon was fuzzy, she could read facial expressions as the lips from various talkin heads thought themselves so clever in masking their little jibes.  "Empathy for Both!"

Lies!

When news came on, she walked away.

It's getting late, and time to be getting back to Sunday, May 1, 2022.

Ohio Guy, Part 1: Ohio had a page up on his computer. While doing a bit of research, for his 3rd

of the series, coming from somewhere behind him, he heard the rattle of what sounded like teacups.  Another one of those  annoying tremors, nice.  He returned to the article of which he was reading.  Along the side, a supposedly abandoned big box store was pictured, with two, maybe three, trailers backed up to loading docks.  At the image's edge, if you looked close enough, you'd see a NO Trespassing sign bolted upon the barbed metal fence. 

He switched to his word document, and saved it - just in case his wifi decided to throw a hissy.  Yeah, the ballots were tallied - he needed to to switch to a better quality provider.  It wasn't like the extra money would set them back for his ramen days.  His publishing, and various side-gigs, kept the little cape-cod in order, kept food on the table, and decent tires on the truck.  And afforded some little extras - like snacks and whatevers at the IndependenceDay Fair that was happening this weekend in town.  Seriously, no point even going to those things if you can't even buy a small bag of peanuts.

Stupid tremors!  

He turned in his swivel seat.

No tremors.  Atleast not the kind that come from underground.

His wife, holding a tray containing his tea, a little silvery pitcher, a small plate of lemon cake (his favorite) stood there...staring at the screen.  Mumbling something in her native language, she set the tray on a small folding table, that was parked in front of a book shelf, wrung her hands upon her crisp apron, she often wore - to preserve the blouse and jumper - backed out of the room.  Her moccasin'd feet padded up the stairs.  

Their bedroom door opened, shut, then opened again.

"Mommy?"  the little girl queried.  "Can I show you...?" whatever their daughter had occupied herself with, while stuck inside.  Outside, the rain drops danced with the wind.  For late June day, it was almost cold enough to turn on the heat.  "Sure," his humble, yet stately wife replied.  "Wow, your stitches are GOOD!"

Ohio turned back to his calling.  Having a job to do, a family to provide, he focused on his work.

This is 2031 not 1961, what's with the wife's puter-phobia, anyway?   Our paperback hero was clueless, but talk about eureka...was just what he needed to start off the chapter after the next.

Joyce, Part 4: The wordship service concluded, the people conversed. Some mingled from group to group. Joyce, keeping a low profile -

being yet new, and unfamiliar with church life, was looking over the tract rack.  WOW, now here was one that spoke.  Upon its cover was a sketch of hands in the air: around the hands, flowed small streamers and musical notes coming from a jagged guitar, a set of drums, and a gong.  Near the center, was pictured a shot glass.  In short, the sort of gatherings Joyce had formerly looked forward to, but now ... no thank you kindly!

"Yes, I heard about it." from beside her, a woman spoke, "never saw it, but I heard ... Book had shut it down."

"Oh, they'll cancel a cake recipe for, what they think, calls for too much sugar."  

Joyce's fingers shot to her lips, in time to supress a laugh.  It was more about the comment, and less about the guy who made it.  He owned the bakery, that much she knew - and, evidently, liked his job.

"...I dunno," came another voice, "...yeah... fie wan truf, fow read my Bible."  Oh brother, Joyce mused,  bet that's a dentist bill and a half!  Talk about gratitude, the Lord's preservation of His own - Joyce's recent visit had only set her back some $300.  

"...still up over at..."  Another voice.  "Think it's for real?"  "Don't know..."  "Maybe." "...cousin's neighbor's dad had said..." More voices.  "Sad to say, but Scripture says it." 

The voices paused, giving heed to this latest participant to the group, gathered alongside the rack.  "Think about it, in 1963, that loudmouth OHara broad - or whatever, 1973 it became okay to kill kids, and then, what? 2015? two dudes could get...bluuck!  Could be...Judgment call!"  The voice, Glen's voice then added.  "Ya think??"

Oh brother, that guy's one firecracker.  Joyce slipped the tract in the ratty little purse she had hanging from her shoulder, then made her way to the door.  On the way out, she paused a sec, in mid-step.

Firecracker could be right.  

Her sunday afternoon plans had been focused on getting home and reading ohio-guy's second last-days installment.  Oh, the story had been on her mind from the moment she had finally ordered herself to put the book down, and get ready for church.  

Of course, her daughter didn't want to come along.  And Joyce would NOT push.  Neither was she in any condition to go anywhere.  All's Joyce knew was: her daughter didn't get in until three-thirtyish.

Anyway, one of ohio-guy's central characters is some little old black lady who runs a diner.  While chit-chatting with a customer, and long-time friend, the old woman's comment - about russians having eternal souls too - is overheard, by some psycho, named Sssamanntha, and - of course - becomes so wrested out of proportion, it looks like she's soon to be on-the-train.

Driving home, certain fragments of the post-worship chats played.  Maybe she'd spend the afternoon doing something other than reading.  Maybe, go for a walk along the river.