Change for an Archangel Part 1
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"Little" SisterChapter 29: Change Of Course free porn video
The Concord Monitor Sunday edition ran my picture on the front page of the local section. The caption was, "No Promises", sub-captioned, "Dr. Richards will consider running." The story detailed my surprise appearance on stage at the fundraiser, connections to Ann Coulter and Sean Hannity, my college and business background and my status as Alderman in Nashua. I have had worse coverage.
I mentioned before that New Hampshire is a very politically aware state. Monday morning I was besieged by attention, only about half from the press. It quickly became apparent that I could no longer walk the Halls of the Capital in relative anonymity. If I spied a conversation across the room, three times in four it was about me.
I called Governor Russam. Rather than the switchboard, I was put straight through to her desk. To make a long conversation short, it was not her idea to push me toward elected office, but she wished me luck. On a more urgent subject, she promised her endorsement on a bill declaring Cloudrest a State Historical Site. More money for my growing non-profit restoration fund.
In related news, PBS was trying to contact me. Their long-running show, This Old House, wanted a piece of the restoration project. That was a bit of a problem, since the main house was already parceled out for design competitions. Still, there was the odd single room building. They were interested in that.
No one had ever come up with a satisfactory explanation for the big room. The show's producer thought it would make a good wood crafter's shop. The big fireplace could be used for a wood drying kiln. It was not exactly period, but it fit the original use of the land, plus it would be useful in the main building restorations. Several large trees had already been marked for cutting. Sawing them into boards and curing them onsite would add to the drama of the reconstruction.
Dr. Singh at Yale thought that this was an excellent plan. He also suggested that the largest marked trees be girdled (a strip of bark removed all the way around) and left standing. In a year, they would be ready for rough cut use. That was all very period to the house. Smaller trees could be thinned for building and finish wood, using more modern techniques.
Rather than give a full course in frontier house construction, it suffices to say that load bearing timbers would be needed. These timbers might have a two-foot square cross section. They could be taken from the heart of, say, a two-hundred-year-old native hardwood. Five such trees were already marked for removal on the future path from house to pier. Reluctantly I gave approval. About a dozen smaller trees would also be harvested and reserved for future use.
Elspeth actively enjoyed the dance of the many, sometimes competing, interests in Cloudrest. I left things to her while I went back to Concord. There, once again, I was confronted by a problem. I had several very good order takers on site, but no order givers. In The Devil wore Prada, Miranda Priestly gave orders with a wince, a frown, a pursing of the lips. I may have worn Prada, but Miranda Priestly was no role model of mine. Instead, I looked for someone with the drive and gumption I needed to run the office.
My problem was that, for the first time in my life, I was popular. In Concord, New Hampshire, I was recognized as a person of influence. If I called the Governor, she took the call. If I told the Republican Committee so-and-so, they would make it happen. Everyone wanted to be the one that made me happy. Mostly it sickened me. I knew toadies and ass kissers from high school and loathed them. It made no difference that it was my ass they wanted to kiss.
I wasted three weeks wading through the soup of wanna-bees and sycophants. The time was not wholly unproductive. If nothing else I was the source of decisions the office needed. The next full legislative session was in September. The chaotic state looked like it might continue til then. I soldiered on.
When I received a call from an old friend, Morgan Robertson, it was like water in the desert. Morgan was a three-term State Representative and two-term State Senator. Short of Governor, there were no more rungs for her to climb, at least in New Hampshire. I had a good idea what she wanted.
Among the perks of being in politics are easy reservations at popular restaurants. I reserved a table in Morgan's name at Angela's, a better than average Italian restaurant. I could have tried for a reservation in my own name, which probably would have worked, but I would be guaranteed a gallery of reporters, lackeys and information brokers. As a State Senator, Morgan was ensured a place, but without as much fanfare. It sort of worked. She also had spotters watching her movements.
I had pre-ordered chef's choice antipasto, pasta prima-vera with shrimp, and chicken diavlo. The agnolotti créma rosa was coming to the table as we were seated. This was fortunate, since it is considered more impolite to interrupt actual dining. As long as there was food in front of us, we had a buffer.
Libbie
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