By George! (The final column)

Editorial commentary by George Petrisek, Journalist & Curmudgeon.

 

May 29, 2009

 

Sitting here in the detritus (I’ve looked for an excuse to use that word for years) of what has been for more than five years my office and Port Allegany home, I am still frantic to come up with that final column—a last memorable 20 or so inches that will say “Farewell” and maybe “It’s been nice to see you” or some such thing, in a way that none of my readers will ever forget.

Wanda says that it should be easy—start with “Good-bye” and end with “Good-bye”—with nothing in between.

She’s right in a way, because that hits directly at the problem that makes this column necessary.

The fact is that I do not want to write any more, or more that I do not want to have to write any more is at the bottom of it.

In the past year or so, deadlines have become burdens—the mere thought that I have to write something has made it almost impossible to write anything.

Even writing reports on the various meetings that I attend has become more than I can stand, and attending the meetings is no longer bearable, let alone fun.

I just don’t want to do it—35 years is enough.

Besides that, since Wanda and I met and were wed, my home is in the suburbs of Gold, far from the center of the things I must write about.

That means, among other things, that I must spend half of my time in this office/bedroom in Heartbreak Hotel, away from my real home in Potter County.

Wanda and I planted a super-size field of corn over the weekend, and I want to be home to protect it from the bears.

Then too, there is the difficulty of living in two places at once—of trying to remember to take with me all that I need when I go from here to there, or there to here.

This morning is a good example—I drove from Cutler Summit to Coudersport and stopped at Sheetz for gas, only to find that I had the wrong wallet and my credit card was 15 miles behind me.

I drove back to get it—there’s no use going into details, but I ended up going back home to get other things from various points down the road three times.

It’s been that way for the past five years—even though I have two sets of almost everything, what I need is all too often at the other place—I’m always wondering where I left my underwear.

The same is true of the materials I need for my writing.

So Saturday the junk furnishings of my home away from home (or is this really my home) will be for sale on the porch at Benton Place, and though I truly love the town, I will leave Port Allegany for my new home in Potter County.

If you are out for the yard sales, stop up and help me get rid of the junk.

And if you don’t have time, the message is the same: Goodbye, Port Allegany—I hope you will miss me half as much as I will miss you.


 Shantih