As a newcomer to Ashland in 2006, I fell in love with the
character of the community and the rhythm of its lifestyle. Music at the band shell,
Ashland Arrows football, the budding opportunities of the Kroc Center, and the intermittent
clatter of horse hooves served as welcome reminders that we were no longer in
inner city Philadelphia or Cleveland. Over the past seven years, Larry and I
put down roots, and our charming home on Walnut Street has brought us much joy.
I even compiled a book of Times-Gazette columns that expanded on my smittenness
- Only in Ashland: Reflections of a
Smitten Immigrant. Yet over the last few months, the guilt has begun to
creep in, because I'm wrestling with divided loyalties. Since confession is
said to be good for the soul, let me explain.
It started out as I did some contract work for the Massillon
Museum, located in the city of Massillon, which is nestled along the Tuscarawas
River on the western end of Stark County. I've learned about Massillon's
founders and the city's namesake, eaten pizza at Smiley's, and decorated
Christmas cookies at MassMu with the lovely Madelyn Simone while awaiting Santa's
arrival. I've met some great people and heard the stories of struggle and
success of its downtown. I've experienced my first MassMu Island Party, an
event that draws thousands of people each year, and even encountered the spirit
of Andy Warhol as the museum is currently presenting SNAP: In the Photobooth with
Andy Warhol. I may not be quite as head over heels in love with Massillon as I
am with Ashland, but it is tugging at my heartstrings.
As the girl with two boyfriends on a string, it was working
out pretty well, as I was careful not to invoke jealously between the two. But
then I cavalierly answered the phone on June 20th, unaware that the ensuing
conversation would lead me down the path of further betrayal to my first love. It
was the Salvation Army calling, asking if I could fill in at one of its Ohio
locations for a few weeks, until they could assign officers to that center. I
had a bad phone connection and couldn't hear the conversation fully, so finally
asked - where did you say this was? "Oh, didn't you hear me - it's
Wooster, Ohio."
So, since I had some spaces available on my dance card, I
agreed to give leadership to the Wooster Salvation Army for five weeks. Yep,
back in the saddle again, and I'm having a great time. Visionary that I tend to
be, it's tough knowing there's a time limit to this gig, but I'm also grateful
it's July rather than December in the Salvation Army world - no kettle bells
ringing in Wooster this month. But here's the challenge - I'm loving the
community of Wooster. I've met some terrific people, enjoyed samples of amazing
food at their downtown tasting party, Artfully Delicious, and I attempt to get
out of the building to explore a bit of downtown each day, although the weather
hasn't cooperated very well with that plan.
Oh, dear Ashland, I don' want to betray you, but I'm getting
smitten all the same by Wooster and Massillon. As I read their newspapers, walk
their streets, and get to know their people, I see that despite our differing
names and locations, these cities have much in common - big enough but not too
big, a rich heritage, intriguing stories, solid values, and hopes and dreams
for the future.
In writing these words, I've had a revelation. Instead of
looking at these loves as polygamous relationships or cheatin' on my man, I'm
changing the metaphor to a mother's love. I've always been glad to pull another
seat up to the dinner table, so as I'm making room in my heart for my new communities,
those new affections don't negate my love for Ashland. This line from Lilo and
Stitch says it all: "Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left
behind - or forgotten." Now let me tell you how much fun I had at Canton's
First Friday . . .
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