The Weekly Newspaper serving the citizens of Morenci, Mich., Fayette, Ohio, and surrounding areas.

  • KayseInField
    IN THE FIELD—2004 Morenci graduate Kayse Onweller works in a test plot of wheat in Texas. She’s part of Bayer CropScience’s North American wheat breeding program based in Nebraska, where she completed post-graduate work in plant breeding and genetics.
  • Front.winner
    REFEREE Camden Miller raises the hand of Morenci Jr. Dawgs wrestler Ryder Ryan as his opponent leaves the mat in disappointment. Morenci’s youth wrestling program served as host for a tournament Saturday morning to raise money for the club. Additional photos are on the back page.
  • Front.bank.2
    SHERWOOD STATE Bank opened its Fayette office at a grand opening Friday morning, drawing a large crowd to view the renovated building. Above, Burt Blue talks to teller Cindy Funk, while his wife, Jackie, looks around the new office. The Blues missed the opening and took a quick tour on Tuesday. Few traces remain of the former grocery store and theater, however, part of the original brick wall still shows in the hallway leading to the back of the building. The drive-through window should be ready for customers later in the month.
  • Front.carry.casket
    CARRYING—Riley Terry (blue jacket) and Mason Vaughn lead the way, carrying an empty casket outside to the hearse waiting at the curb. Morenci juniors and seniors visited Eagle Funeral Home last week to learn about the role of a funeral director and to understand the process of arranging for a funeral.
  • Front.lift
    MORENCI student Dalton McCowan puts everything into a dead lift attempt Saturday morning during the Wyseguy Push/Pull event. Lifters helped raise more than $1,600 for the family of the late Devin Wyse, a former Morenci power-lifter who graduated last year. Commemorative T-shirts are still available by contacting teacher Dan Hoffman.
  • Front.make.three
    FROM THE LEFT, Landon Wilkins, Ryan White and Logan Blaker try out their artistic skills Saturday afternoon at the Morenci PTO’s first Date to Create event. More than 50 people showed up to create decorated planks of wood to hang from rope. The event served as a fund-raiser for miscellaneous PTO projects. Additional photos are on the back of this week’s Observer.
  • Front.F.office
    NEW OFFICES—Fayette village administrator Steve Blue speaks with tax administrator Genna Biddix at the new front desk of the village office. Village council members voted to use budgeted renovation funds targeted for the old office and instead buy the vacant bank building on the corner of Main and Fayette streets. The old office was sold to Sherwood State Bank. When everything is put into place in the spacious new village office, an open house will be scheduled. Council member David Wheeler donated all of his time needed to make changes in the bank interior to fit the Village’s needs.

2005.11.23 Open door policy doesn't work for this woman

Written by David Green.

By COLLEEN LEDDY

Women who are abused have been known to say, “I walked into a door,” to explain a  black eye or a bruise on their face that actually came at the hands of their husband or partner or boyfriend.

I used to wonder, Why would anyone use that improbable event as an excuse? How could anyone be so stupid? Walk into a door? It’s such an unlikely scenario; how could you expect to be believed? Now I know it happens, and it happens like this:

I’m scrubbing the upstairs bathroom sink at 2 in the morning because at 9 p.m Saturday while I’m shopping in Toledo, my daughter Rozee informs me that she’s getting a ride home from Berea College that night with her cousins. They may be arriving sometime in the night—or not until the next morning. They may or may not be spending the night.

My housekeeping sensibilities are on par with my friend Kay’s, who I can hear in my mind’s ear saying as I’m scrubbing, “Col, they’re kids. What the hell are you scrubbing the sink for? They aren’t even going to notice. They may not even be staying. Go to bed.”

She’s right, or at least my version of what I think she would say is right, but I like to afford all my guests a clean house and I like to be prepared. What if they do end up staying? I want them to brush their teeth and wash their hands over a clean sink. I want them to sleep on freshly laundered sheets and dry off with clean towels. I want to serve them home-baked muffins. So, since I’ve arrived home at nearly 11 p.m., I’ve been on a mad dash around the house, clearing off clutter, sweeping, doing laundry….

While I was still in Toldeo, Maddie already gathered the dirty laundry and deposited it in the basement, and fluffed the couch cushions. David washed a mountain of dishes, vacuumed and more. We’re actually in pretty good shape, but I don’t want to subject others, kids or not, to my usual cleaning standards, so I continue scrubbing until the sink gleams white.

Then I remember a load of towels tumbling in the dryer. They’ve been tumbling for too long. Some unnamed child—or husband—turned the setting knob in the wrong direction and now the dryer won’t turn off automatically when the clothes are dry or even after it’s been set for a number of minutes. You have to open the dryer door to make it stop spinning.

So I turn out the bathroom light and blindly race into the dark hallway, swiftly making for the stairs, on my way to the towels in the basement. I have no recollection that the hallway door is wide open as I crash headfirst into the narrow edge of it. My forehead bears the brunt of the collision, but my whole body is jolted. I moan. I groan. I can’t believe how much it hurts. I can’t believe the door just stood there and didn’t give at all. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. Who would walk into a door like that? I would. I just did. And I’m not an abused woman.

Well, not physically, anyway. But I take a lot of mental abuse.

David’s in bed and I am keeping him awake as I fumble with the closet door, trying to yank it open so I can retrieve the giant suitcase in which I store my off-season clothes. I’m going after my supply of turtlenecks and want to deposit my shorts and short sleeve shirts. My progress is impeded by a big pile of clothes—his clothes—on the floor in front of the closet.

“Are these clothes clean or dirty?” I ask.

“What difference does it make if they’re clean or dirty?” he asks. “They’re my summer shirts. I’m just going to put them in the closet until next spring.”

“Oh, David!”

I am overcome with disgust. He’s putting dirty shirts in the closet? It’s not my closet. I don’t have any clothes hanging in there, but the idea of clothes being put away for the winter unwashed just grosses me out. I can hear Kay in full throttle New York accent: “Whatzamatta wit him? Is he nuts?”

But David applies his brand of logic.

“If they’re clean they’ll have to be washed again anyway by spring and if they’re dirty, they still have to be washed again,” he says.

“If they’re dirty, I say haughtily, “they need to be washed before putting...”

Quickly and decisively, he cuts me off.

“They’re clean!” he says with finality.

I laugh, but I’m thinking, hmm, how can I get him to walk into a door?

   - Nov. 23, 2005

 

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