I Was Just Wondering. . .

The Source

I realize that I’m still new to town and the friendly folks of Sandusky Street and elsewhere have tried their best to acclimate me to the in’s and out’s of living in the Elm City. I was cruising along nicely until I got my first tax bill from Morgan County. There was some consolation in the fact that we are apparently paving our streets in gold and diamonds. When I lived in Arenzville the arrival of the tax bill sometimes necessitated a trip to the First National Bank. In Jacksonville it’s more likely to cause a trip to Passavant’s cardiac unit, so I guess that’s my first question: How do people in Jacksonville pay their property taxes? Do they sell their children? More questions remain. . . things I just can’t quite figure out. Things like. . . We now have a gorgeous and award-winning downtown square and prominent in the southeast corner of the grassy area is a monument commemorating the Trail of Death by the Pottawatomi nation. “Potawatomi Indians were welcomed on the plaza, October 2, 1838, while on the Trail of Death. . . “ It’s an ironic tribute in the center of a town named after President Jackson who signed then relentlessly enforced the Indian Removal Act which caused the Native Americans to travel through here in the first place. Perhaps Potowatomi-ville was too hard to spell. We already struggle with “Mauvaisterre.” Those cars that take up every parking place on the Jacksonville Square. . . where are those people? What does Norma put in her pies that make them so addictive? Notice the two speeds: the velocity with which people enter her restaurant and the way they sort of just roll out. Is there a single fast food restaurant in town that has a decent drive-up speaker system? And could Lincoln Land perhaps give classes on how to hold the “speak” button down until the speaker stop speaking? It seems like every twenty yards there’s a place in town selling essential oils. If they are indeed essential how did we get along without them for the last million or so years?