When you live in a town with its own yellow brick road, you learn to expect the Oz-centric. That didn’t keep me from stopping to stare the Monday morning I saw Glinda the good witch traipsing down the sidewalk.
It’s not that Glinda sightings are uncommon here in Chittenango, New York. The village has made a precarious cottage industry out of being the birthplace of L. Frank Baum. During our annual Oz celebration, you can’t walk down the street without running into entire mobs of lions and tigers and bears. Oh my.
But this particular Glinda sighting was a bit suspect. For one thing, it was mid-January, fully halfway round the calendar from Oz-a-bration. For another, off-the-shoulder gowns aren’t the preferred clothing for a sub-zero snowfall, no matter how many flounces and sparkles adorn the shimmering fabric.
But the kicker was that as far as I could remember – and as the owner of Yellow Brick Road Tours, I’m somewhat of an Oz expert – in neither the books nor any of the various adaptations had Glinda ever sported a flowing white beard.
Before I moved to Chittenango, not even the hefty snow shovel I was currently wielding would have been enough reassurance to keep me on the street with a cross-dressing apparition. My bulky wool coat might have disguised my gender, but I had a feeling the pink pompon on my hat made it very clear I was a woman alone. But I wasn’t in Rochester any more. So I thrust the shovel into the drift I’d been attacking, shoved my hands into my pockets, then headed down the block to see what the heck had hit the town this time.
Snow squeaked beneath my boots as I trudged through the grey half-light that signaled the sun’s victory over yet another darkness. Glinda had stopped outside Uncle Henry’s Bar and Grill to blow kisses to the breakfast crowd I knew must be fogging up the pane glass window. In good weather, my short journey down the Yellow Brick Road – well, sidewalk - would have taken less than a minute. But eight fresh inches of snow over the icy core already on the sidewalk made for treacherous travel. I had to focus on foot placement more intently than I had since learning the box step back in fourth grade. Maybe that was why I caught myself humming show tunes as I picked my way past the Oz and Ends Shop, Jake’s House of Tin, and the House of Aaahs massage therapy.
At last I slip-slided close enough for conversation.
“Are you a good witch or a totally insane witch?”
Glinda lifted a heavily gloved hand. "Morning, South," he said in a voice roughened by decades of tobacco abuse.
"Morning, Ed.” I tilted my head to give his attire a thorough visual exam. "Isn't it a bit early to be stumping for votes?"
His face flushed as pink as his gown. "Me and the mayor of Cazenovia had a bet. You know, like when the mayors of Super Bowl team cities bet a bunch of crabs or steaks or something."
"I take it this had something to do with last week's high school hockey game."
His wince was so painful I couldn’t help but laugh, planting my feet wide apart so I wouldn’t lose my balance when I threw my head back to howl. The poor man glared, but too bad. Raising three kids had made me immune to pouting lips, stomping feet, and shrieks of overdone agony. A mere glare was nothing.
"You might have picked a warmer day," I said.
"He named the date. And the place, and the distance." Ed waved his wand toward the hint of light peeking around the steeple of the former church that housed YBR Tours. "Thank God he didn't nail down a time. He never was much for details."
"Where is he now?"
"Probably still in bed. You know those Caz folks."
"So how will he know you followed through?"
"The wife took a picture before I left the house, and the guys at Henry’s should be more than happy to tell him all about it."
That, I could well believe.
I reached over and batted a particularly dangerous looking clump of snow from his Dolly Parton wig before it could fall onto his bare shoulders.
"You'd better get inside before you catch your death, Ed. That dress wasn't made for mornings like this."
“That’s for damned sure,” he said, but instead of leaving, he pulled a pack of Marlboros and a lighter from his cleavage. “You almost ready for your Committee visit next week?”
My stomach twitched and tightened the way it did whenever I thought about my impending inspection from the Official Oz-ManiacsCommittee. “Almost,” I said. “But every time I think I’m set, something else comes up. You know, more research, more information on the tours, that kind of stuff.”
“Yeah, it’s a bitch to get through this. But I’m telling you, South, it pays off. Took me months to get ready when I did it, but once I passed, business went through the roof. It’ll happen for you, too, just you wait and see.”
Ed was trying to encourage me, I knew, but all he did was increase the speed of the gut-twitching. As mayor of our Munchkin-loving village, he had a legitimate reason to hope that my business, like a handful of others in town, would gain the coveted Oz-maniac stamp of approval. More customers for me meant more visitors to Chittenango. It was a win-win situation for everyone except the ulcer I was hatching.
“My visit’s not until the end of next week.” I held my breath as Ed struggled to light his cigarette with fingers that I knew had to be even colder than the ice lumps on the end of my hand. “Friday. So as long as none of the kids get sick and we don’t have a snow day and nobody dumps a body on my doorstep, I should be able to pull this off.”
“You will,” he said with a nod.
God, I hoped so. Not only because I could really use that jump in business, but because – well – silly as it sounded, this town had saved my life not too long ago. I’d love to be able to do something good in return.
And if the never-ending paperwork and terrors of the inspection meant I would get to thumb my nose at the ex who predicted I could never make it without him, well, so much the better.
Ed sighed and shoved the cigarettes back into their hiding place. “You’ll make it,” he said, then stamped his feet. “Hey, did you drop your little one at Nita’s yet?”
“Let me guess - putting on a dress brought out your feminine side, and that’s why you‘re asking about my child care arrangements. Right?”
“Yeah, and soon I’ll be asking you for make-up tips, too. No, I was just wondering because Kurt usually comes to breakfast on Mondays, but he didn’t show today. I thought maybe you’d seen him or knew if he was sick or something.”
I managed to repress the frown that usually took possession of my face when I thought of my child care provider’s husband. “Sorry. I left Tucker home with his brother and sister while I shoveled. I’ll take him to Nita’s soon.” I glanced at my watch. Ouch. “Real soon.”
“Okay. He probably couldn’t haul his butt out of a warm bed.” He blew a stream of smoke that seemed to crystallize in the brisk air, then hoisted his skirts. “I’m gonna head back in. Too damned cold to stay out here any longer. You have a good day,
South.” I told him to walk carefully, then turned and made my way back to my end of the block. A glance at the clock in the steeple of the Methodist church told me I’d spent too long with Ed. There wasn’t time to finish shoveling my front sidewalk now. I couldn’t even think about the mother of all snow drifts that lay across my back steps. I had to run home, take over care of the baby so my teenagers could make the bus, get little Tucker ready for day care, drop him off, and get back to work in time to prep for the first tour of the day. Somewhere in there I had to grab a bite to eat, make sure the kids had lunch money and all their homework, and spend at least a minute playing with Tucker so he would know his mommy loved him before she deserted him.
And then I would begin the actual work day.
I grabbed the shovel and headed for the car. For a moment it felt like someone had tossed a gray blanket between me and the sky, blocking the sun from my vision. I was cold and tired and overworked and broke. Even if I passed next week’s inspection, I would still be an exhausted single mother doing her best to keep a family and a business together with not enough time to do either of them justice.
A burst of raucous laughter from the other end of the block made me turn to squint through the snowflakes. I could just make out the sight of a crowd of bulky-coated men waltzing Ed/Glinda in a series of sidewalk circles.
My momentary blues fled as fast as they had appeared. So what that I was cold and tired and overworked and broke. At least I was here, in Chittenango. Life could be worse. I could still be in Rochester with my ex. Nobody ever walked down the street dressed like Glinda in Rochester.
I tossed the shovel in the car and hopped in, ready once more for the day ahead. God, I loved this town.