We Can't Seem to Give This Away

Isaac-Albert was returned to us this afternoon. It was shortly after lunch when the cart that had taken him away appeared ominously over the hill.
It was the short one. He said that the audience's reaction was not what they had hoped for, and that he seemed to depress everyone who saw him. We regretfully took him back, and even more regretfully returned the $75 and the pony. William was so angry he spent several hours chasing Isaac-Albert around the house with a wooden rod until it got dark and we had to call him inside.

A Curse Turns to Blessing

Early this morning two men came to the house, and asked if they could speak to Abigail and I. We invited them in, Abigail made some coffee and took some cornbread from the pantry, and we all sat down in the living room, sending the children out to play. Abigail and I were apprehensive. Neither of us had any idea what these men could want.
The man who seemed to be the more authoritative of the two, had a sinister looking goatee. He continually curled it with his finger as he spoke. His eyes were dark and peered at us from beneath the brim of a tall top hat. He was dressed in a lavish suit of black and red. He wore a monocle over his left eye, carried a cane, and was followed everywhere by a long flowing cape.
The other gentlemen was of considerably lesser stature. In my mind, I likened him to the Irish children tails of the leprechauns. For his comfort we provided him with the largest book we could find to sit on. Yet despite his lack of height there was something very intimidating in his eyes.
I think Abigail and I both feared that these gentlemen were here for no good purpose. We were wrong.
They belonged to a carnival that traveled the coutry to entertain people. They had been in our town, and had heard about Isaac-Albert, and wished to purchase him for their show. They offered us $75 and a pony as consilation.
The men were very humane and helpful. The tall, dark man had a bottle of what he called diethyl ether*. He told me to put some on a cloth and hold it over Isaac-Albert's mouth for a couple seconds, but no more than two or I might kill him. Isaac-Albert fell asleep almost immediately, we locked him in his box, and loaded him on to their cart.
William and Elizabeth had a wonderful afternoon riding the pony.

*Diethyl ether, first synthesized by Valerius Cordus in 1540, was first used as a general anesthetic in 1842 by Crawford Williamson Long, M.D.

A Busy Week

Abigail's folks should be here by the middle of next week. I'm becoming more and more apprehensive about them being here. I also wish I knew how long they were staying. I will probably very busy all week trying to get the place ready for them. Aside from my usual chores, something has torn down a section of fence on the north end of the pasture. I'll have to spend a lot of time splitting rails this week.*
Isaac-Albert has been drawing more and more pictures lately. It's all he's done since the new year. Yet, me and Abigail can't find any of his drawings. Neither of us can figure out what he does with them.


*Barbed wire will not be used until the most successful version is patented by Joseph F. Glidden of Dekalb, Illinois in 1874.

Righting a Wrong

Tuesday was Valentine's Day. I didn't realize until Sylvester approached me at the meeting and asked me what I had gotten Abigail.
After the meeting, I ran into town and bought chocolates, and picked some flowers on my way home. When I arrived I snuck in the back door, took ink, quill, and parchment, and snuck to the barn where I composed the following:

My Dearest Abigail,

I know that you have been disappointed in me as of late, and with good reason, but do not doubt my feelings for you. The Day of St. Valentine's came and went without acknowledgement, because I wished to point something out to you, and to all the world: I don't need some potty suck saint to tell me when to love my wife. These tokens, I give you, not because the government says I must, but because you mean the world to me everyday; not just every February 14th and your birthday. Rest assured, these flowers will wither and die long before my love for you will.

Your everloving husband,

Jebediah

I think she bought it.

Just Another Unsolved Mystery of Life

This morning dawned, bright and warm, but like every other day, the sun sets and the world becomes dark and cold once again. I awoke to a pleasant surprise this morning. Abigail had snuck out of bed before the sun rose and prepared an exquisite breakfast which she served to me in bed. Throughout the morning she was very affectionate and seemed to be in an almost ethereal mood. I was sorry I had to leave the house for work.
Oddly when I arrived home from work, Abigail's loving attitude had diminished considerably, and by bed time, she had become cold and unresponsive. It escapes me what could have caused her turnaround. Who in this world can fathom the happenings within the mind of females?

Looking Forward to My Own Great Disappointment

Yesterday's meeting was, in my opinion, our best so far. It's true we didn't really get anything new accomplished, but there were no fights, and no tears. It was as if we could all read each other's minds, for we all silently agreed to just try and forget about the events of last week's meeting. There was no mention of Fisher's outburst, nor the incredibly harsh, (but accurate) review of his play. Rather, we focused on the future, discussing the adventure that awaited us on our trip ahead while drinking a few sarsparillas.
When I arrived home after the meeting, I was greeted with some very unexpected news. It seems that Abby, in her annual Christmas card to her parents, mentioned the fact that we would be moving out West. Apparently this came as a shock to them. Abigail recieved a letter yesterday announcing their planned visit. They will be taking the stage from New Jersey and, in less than a month, my in-laws will be coming to stay with us for awhile. I can't say that I am pleased by this news. Both my mother and father in-laws can be very critical. They always try and convince me that I am not a good enough man to have married their daughter. They both often remark that life has never been the same since "The Great Disappointment".*
Abigail's mother, Rebecca Sugarfoot, despite her sour disposition is a wonderful cook. Abigail's father, Rufus Sugarfoot is a man who has done it all. He has been a sailor, a soldier, a miner, and is still a farmer. He wrote for a local newspaper and once ran for mayor. He even claims he has killed a man in cold blood. It is hard for me to like him, considering his attitude towards me, but I highly respect him and, truth be told, deeply yearn for his approval. There is little in this life that would make me happier than to hear him call me son before we leave for Oregon.

*On October 22, 1844, thousands of followers of William Miller were gathered in expectation of the return of Jesus Christ, many of them having given up all worldly possessions. Christ did not return on the predicted date, and the event came to be known as "The Great Disappointment". It is unclear as to whether the Sugarfoots were involved in this historic event, or simply use the phrase to refer to the day that their daughter married Jebediah.

What is Eating Fisher Jones

Early this morning as I worked in my shop, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find Fisher and Sylvester. Both looked rather solemn, but there was something especially peculiar in Fisher's movements. I invited the gentlemen to come in and warm up, then shut the door behind them. After several long moments of silence, Sylvester cleared his throat. It must have been some sort of signal to Fisher for he suddenly jumped, as if startled from a spot of deep thinking. He looked at me for a moment, not quite meeting my eyes, and then began to speak. "I apologize for my emotional outburst the other day. It came from feelings I had been harboring, and should not have been aimed at you. I hope you'll forgive me." I quickly accepted his apology, and Fisher fell silent. It was then that I found out that by the time we had our meeting last Thursday, Fisher had already experieced heavy rejection. Sylvester handed me yesterday's paper and pointed to an article I had missed entitled "Fit for the Ocean Floor". As I took in the article, I could not help but feel very sorry for Fisher. It was a review of his new play, and read as follows:

After nearly three hours of failed attempts to be "edgy", "dramatic", and "good", Red Skye in the Morning leaves the audience wishing they had been hung at the beginning of Act III with the rest of the pirates.

From its transparent, political undertones to its reprehensible, shock seeking portrayal of the life of a good-hearted pirate with a bad reputation, Mr. Jones' play seems nothing more than a litany of trite observations on a completely irrelevant culture. From Scene 1, this play reeks of anti-neocolonialist sympathies. We've won the war Mr. Jones; move on.

The acting throughout leaves much to be desired. Mr. Jones' portrayal of the antagonist turned protaganist, Captain Skye, falls a far cry short of a stirring performance. While the character holds much potential, the actor must realize that there is indeed a difference between stoicism and plain, old-fashioned, stodgy acting. As for the crocodile tears in the final scene, this vain attempt at emotion was about as believable as the notion of a flying machine.

While Mr. Jones' acting revealed no emotion whatsoever, others revealed far too much. Susanna Jones, Mr. Jones' daughter, leaves me wondering whether or not the pirate first mate was supposed to be addicted to opium.

Some patrons may also detect some traces of misogyny, considering the play's one female character, a nameless kidnap victim, meets her demise early in the opening scene.

The overall writing is hackneyed and insensate. The dialogue is broken, and the plot is artificially driven. I don't even wish to comment on the poor use of the Deus Ex Machina in Act IV. Even in the hands of a talented company with a competent and capable director, I see little hope for this play's future.

The play is showing behind the courthouse Fridays and Saturdays at 6:00pm with a Saturday matinee at 1:00pm, but in this critics humble opinion, save yourself a nickel and three hours of your life.

When I reached the end of the article, it was clear to me why Fisher reacted the way he did last week. I didn't know what to say, so I simply looked at him and said I was sorry. Fisher nodded, then walked over to me and firmly embraced me. I hesitantly patted his back as he quietly cried on my shoulder.

Hoping This First Obstacle Will Not Be Our Last

Today's meeting was a startling turn of events. There may be bumpy roads ahead for POLIO, speaking figuratively of course.
The meeting began fine, however it soon turned ugly. It came time for Fisher to unveil the badges, he had been commissioned to design, and we were all anxious to see what he had come up with. Unfortunately, the finished product did not meet my expectations. His proposed insignia was that of a great hawk crafted of gold with its wings outspread, perched on the back of a noble bison tearing grass from beneath him and looking Westward. All of this was to be set against an aquamarine sky with a great ruby encrusted sun centered above.
Fisher went on to reveal the symbolism of each piece. The golden hawk represented the spirit of adventure that dwells within all of us, the great bison was a symbol of man's strength and a testament to his will. The grass being simultaneously devoured and trampled upon was to represent the Philistine masses that wouldn't recognize art if it came down upon them like a flaming star from the heavens.* The ruby sun symbolized God watching over us, and the blue sky was a symbol of the God given freedom to follow our dreams. All of this was to be crafted onto a token no larger than a silver dollar.
I'll admit that I was moved by Fisher's presentation. However, what was being asked of me involved a craftsmanship that required time and resources that I simply did not possess. The cost of the materials alone would in all likelihood force us to sell our homes. I explained this to the gentlemen, I even suggested something simpler, such as carving "POLIO" on the sides of our wagons. Mr. Sidcott, and Mr. Plimpton immediately saw my point, Mr. Jones however took the news very badly. After accusing me of "crippling his creative spirit" and asking how I dare to call myself a blacksmith, he took up his coat, and walked out the door. I think he was crying.
Mr. Sidcott has agreed to call on Fisher tomorrow and try to talk some sense into him. We hope that this incident will not be the end of POLIO.

* In August of 1846, a meteorite hit the earth 7.5 miles south of Cape Garardeau, Missouri. It weighed 2.3 kilograms (roughly 5 lbs.) and was a chondrite type meteorite, the most common kind of meteorite, which is composed mostly of iron and magnesium.