Nothing To See Here: “Hamglaze & Company”

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-25)

 

 

In yonder days, one of my most trusted advisers on the subject of political machinations was a fellow writer and familiar figure to those of us living in Geauga County, Ohio. Namely, our local grande dame of governance and elections, Carrie Hamglaze. A woman known for her education, real-world experience, and steadfast faith in God and the sanctity of our republic. Her notoriety had endured for decades in this pastoral region, south of Lake Erie. But in recent years, as I languished in retirement and puttered at the home-office desk with projects of various sorts, I became disconnected from her stream-of-consciousness wisdom. I did not feel the need to discuss issues in real time, as when both of us were active at the local Maple Leaf newspaper, penning articles and columns for public consumption.

 

But with a recent, off-year election cycle producing headlines in the mainstream press, I felt motivated to seek out my friend for comments and insight. My eyes burned a bit with the hyperbolic text used to describe what some identified as a groundswell of blue fervor, that was destined to engulf our nation, from coast to coast. As a dedicated independent with no major-party affiliation, this proclamation meant little to me in personal terms. Yet I wanted some clarity on the subject, from a dependable source.

 

It took a couple of days to track down Ms. Hamglaze, as she had remained energetic and busy, even in her own condition of senior isolation. But then, as I was finishing a morning round of Maxwell House coffee, from my BUNN brewer, a telephone ring signified that she had become available.

 

I was glad to have steadied my stomach, and bloodstream, before answering the call.

 

“Rodney! You haven’t dialed my number in ages! Is anything wrong out there in your rural neighborhood?”

 

I rubbed my eyes and coughed lightly. She sounded perky, and fortified with Irish tea.

 

“No, no, nothing out of the ordinary... well, except for family concerns. My sister passed away last week. I am numb at the moment. Not coherent enough to process what happened.”

 

Carrie was stunned by this report. I could hear her fiddling with a pair of reading glasses, suspended on a length of silver chain.

 

“WHAT? NOTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY, YOU SAY? OH, I AM SO SORRY FOR YOU AND YOUR FAMILY!”

 

I nodded while cradling my device in one hand. In the other, I had a half sandwich made with one slice of bread and a dollop of chunky peanut butter.

 

“As I said, it does not seem real enough to accept at this moment. I can’t latch onto the gravity of her exit. She became the center of our brood. Every holiday was celebrated at her home in Hambden Township. Every event of importance. Every discussion of happenings that involved our bunch. But that isn’t why I called...”

 

My contact in Chardon sighed loudly and huffed at her device. Her puzzlement was palpable, even over a wireless connection.

 

“Well then, if that didn’t cause you to pick up the phone, what did, Rodney?”

 

I coughed again to clear my throat. We had not spoken directly in so long that I had to reach for distant recollections to sharpen my focus.

 

“I’ve been reading stories online. Nerdy, wonky stuff written by professional pundits. Like at the Drudge report, or Huffington Post. Or on my Yahoo! news page. Chatter about the votes taken in New Jersey, Virginia, California, and specifically, New York City, and their socialist mayor-elect...”

 

There was a long pause before she answered. I could sense that her blood pressure was rising.

 

“Listen, friend, things did not go well for those on my side of the aisle. That much is true. But, the other face of that coin is just as valid. Election cycles occurred in blue states and a blue city. Or perhaps, in the case of Virginia, a purple state. But the results were what most observers expected. In the Big Apple, registered Democrats outnumber Republicans by a huge margin. Curtis Sliwa was a fossil. Andrew Cuomo was damaged goods. So, what did that leave for citizens at the ballot box? A young activist with radical ideas. Not practical ideas, not plausible ideas, but at least ideas that differ from the tired, half-baked solutions that have let a great metropolis slide into apathy. I don’t see that as a referendum of any kind. More like a predictable protest by residents who feel they have been ignored.”

 

Hamglaze had cleared the cobwebs out of my brain. Her words made sense like nothing I had read on my computer.

 

“That’s it, I knew you would hit the bullseye. All morning, I scrolled through partisan boasts about a comeback for the opposition. The pendulum swinging, you know? It’s a natural progression, I get it. But the same perplexing issues remain. I don’t see that one side or the other has much in the way of real solutions...”

 

Carrie snorted, audibly. I had touched a nerve, it seemed.

 

“I would beg to disagree of course, as I think my tribe has proposed many things that are sound and logical. But I understand you’ve got your own perspective, Rodney. At the end of the day however, I don’t figure this reveals too much about our political future. As I said, it’s a matter of tendencies which have long been established. What happened isn’t necessarily relevant on a national scale.”

 

I reflected on watching television moderator John McLaughlin as a younger man.

 

“You ought to have your own show in syndication. I’ve said that for years. We need someone in the public eye who can distill these kinds of events into a simple, digestible message. I’d much rather have spent my morning with that kind of sober analysis...”

 

My journalistic cohort must have been red-faced with embarrassment. But she maintained her composure.

 

“I appreciate the kind words. But don’t hold your breath, Rodney! That sort of production doesn’t get the ratings that are necessary to survive. The market is fractured now, with streaming networks, podcasts, weblogs, and such. Remember the old adage that ‘content is king?’ Now there is so much content that it makes my head spin. People in the know have to wade through an ocean of material, just to get a few, relevant facts. I think that is why the aggregation sites do so well. We all find our own lane.”

 

Her candid assessment shocked me into silence, for a moment.

 

“Well, yes... I think you nailed it there, Ms. Hamglaze! Bravo! As always, you are right on target!”

 

I could hear the chime of her doorbell, in the background. Suddenly, our polite discussion was over. I gasped out a cadence of short breaths before accepting this abrupt termination. She pretended not to notice.

 

“Anyway, my steak entree is here, Rodney! I am famished, do you realize it’s after the hour of noon already? Be well, old chum. Stay warm! Stay safe! And... don’t drink too much and fall off your porch. I’ll bet your bones are brittle!”

 

There was a sharp, electronic click in my ear. Our conversation had ended.