Fwd: More Uncle Beast missing piece

Missing piece from Uncle Beast

            *            *            *            * Taming Uncle Beast

            And then, like a a great whale rising from deep under the water, blowing spume and droplets everywhere, Trey surfaced.  His back surfaced first.  He took a great gulp of air and disappeared again.  Beast, no Jake, went to the edge of the raft and seemed about to dive in, when Trey reapeared, gulped and disappeared,  He was back in the inlet.  After several more resurfacings, he came up at the edge of the raft, grabbed it with one hand, panting, and then slowly pulled up a parcel. 

            It was the beer, and his shirt was stretched tightly around it to keep the softened cardboard from disintegrating, I guess.  The starnger ran to the side of the raft and he and jake hoisted the case of beer back onto the raft.  Then they hoisted Trey up.  He was, as my father would say, naked as a jack daw.  (I am going to have to look up that expression, because I though jackdaws were birds and birds have feathers, don't they?  or do they mean baby bird?  What is it that Mr. Farnworth called baby birds that were born naked.  Hatched naked, I mean?  Altricial.)  Anyway, Trey was buck naked and I couldn't help looking at that private spot and noticing that it was kind of bluish and shriveled so small I could ahrdly see it.  I won't go into further details about my thoughts and curiosities they provoked.)

            Trey seemed completely at ease with his nakedness.  I would have been trying to get covered as fast as possible.  (Footnbote:  Ma and Pa, before you get excited, remember, Jake and the other guy were there;  I was not alone with with a naked boy and he did not jump me or anything!)  Trey calmly stood around a few minutes, then picked up his jeans and used one of the legs to dry himself off.  Then he put his pants on and Jake gave him a shirt.  Jake's not a big guy, as you know those he's strong in the shoulders, but the shirt was big on Trey.  It made me think about how thin he was.  Lean might be a better word. 

            "Harmon, this is my neice, Tiny Lee, and this is her friend Trey.  Tiny, Trey, this is my friend Harmon.  Harmon is a man of the cloth."

            "Was a man of the cloth," Harmon said, "and will be again."  I looked at the huge, hairy man.  He looked more like Hagrid, the half giant in the Harry Potter movies, then any priest or minister I'd ever seen, not that I've been than many.  But the ones you see in movies and on TV usually look somewhat distinguished and clean cut, the antithesis of Harmon.  He looked like a garagantuan version of The Wild Man of Borneo, complete with the crazy eyes.  ((112/70 at Beeai's))

            He cracked open a beer and sucked it down in about 30 seconds.  I was angry and upset.  Fearful.  Afraid Jake would start drinking.  It seemed unkind to drink in front of someone who was trying not to drink and who could die if he did.  He popped open a second, sucked that down in less than a minute and repeated it with a third and let out the loudest, longest belch I'd ever heard.  And I've heard some seriously lod belches from Jake.  But this was a super-belch, the king of belches.  I hate to say I was awed by a belch, but I was, though not necessarily in a good way.

            Then Harmon lay down on the raft, curled himslef and around the beer, which was still in Trey's shirt, put his arm over the case, and went to sleep. 

            "What do we do now?" I asked Jake.  We had Trey and his canoe and Hamon and his little skiff.  Rafting with two extra boats could be challenging.

            Jake stood there scratching his head, looking at the boats and the raft. 

            Trey said, "stack them over the stern and extend the tiller."

            "That might work," Jake said, smiling. Seeing Jake smile made me smile.

            "But," I said, "what happens when Harmon wakes up and finds himself downriver?  Won't he be upset?"

            "Nah, he's headed that way anyway."

            "But, how will he get home?"

            "How will Trey get home?  How will we get home?  Tiny, you worry too much."

            "Harmon doesn't seem like someone we ought to upset," I said.

            "No, he's not a good person to cross.  He could brea you in half without even trying. He's killed more than one person by accident when he was drunk."

            I looked at the sleeping giant on the raft.  "I thought you siad he was a man of the cloth.  Maybe you'd better explain."

            *            *            *            *

            "Let's get the show on the road, first, and then we can talk," Jake said. 

            While we were talking, Trey had cut a fairly sout branch from an overhanging tree, produced a stout folding knife from his packet, removed the side branches and shaped it as a tiller extension.  He had even produced a spiece of thin rope from his packet and was busy lashing the extension onto the tiller. 

            Jake was eyeing the boats.  The canoe was long and narrow and the skiff short and wide.  They would not stack well.  No matter which way I imagined stacking them, it would be pretty precarious. 

            "Could we attach the canoe to the bow?" I asked?  "I don't see how we can stack them."

            Trey and Jake stopped and studied the raft.  The canoe was wider than the raft.  The raft had a extra sets of logs across the bow and stern to stabilize it.  It was longer from bow to stern than from left to right (words?).  The logs that were in contact with the water ran lengthwise from bow to stern to make the raft more hydrodynamic.  And there is a (one of those things you push in when it is deep enough to act as a stailizer) to stabilize the raft and hopefully keep it going shriaght.  Between that and the tiller, Jake hoped to keep the raft, which is not very hydrodynamic, going fairly straight rather than whirling around.

            I could see the gears turning in his headl Trey's too. 

            "If we got some more branches, we could make . . " Trey started

            "a platform for it." Jake finsihed, and soon, they were cutting more branches. 

            Then the problem was how to attach them.  Trey had one more length of thin rope in his pocket and set to work attaching the starboard side branches.  Jake stood considering and then pulled s shirt from his bag and ripped some strips of cloth off the bottom and used those for ones on the port side.

            It did not look very sturdy and I thought that we'd better not crash into anything, or the whole house of cards would collapse.

            Then, Jake used the rest of the shirt to lash Harmon's skiff to the stern.  It occurred me that with the canoe and the skiff, we could drop anchor and go ashore with those, rather tha trying to dock the clumsy raft.  When I said that, Jake just grinned.  My guess was that he's already thought of it.

            One thing nobody thought about, which was really dumb, was how we would get the raft through the very narrow opening with canoe on it, making it wider.  So the next thing that happened was untying the canoe.  Trey got in it, paddled it out into the river, and Jake and I poled the raft out through the narrow opening.  Then they heaved the canoe back onto the raft, tied it down again, and we were finally off. 

            Jake gave me the tiller and starting digging around in the icebox.  "Voila," he said, pulling out a bowl with a dozen multicolored eggs.

 

--

Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives. 
C. S. Lewis

Mary

--

Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives. 
C. S. Lewis

Mary

Walking Home after Dark 20140710

            *            *            *            * Taming Uncle Beast

            What happens next strikes me as odd, considering the tension in the little vestry room.  Harmon drags Betty Sue out onto the "stage" and we all parade out after him right past pastor Wrs who is still soothing his flock.  We take our seats.  Harmon leads Betty Sue to the pew we're sitting, guides her in by the hand and she sits down between Jake and me.  Trey is on my other side.  Betty Sue take my hand and Jake's hand.  Her hand seems suprisingly small, like a child's, and cold in spite of the heat of the day. My legs are sticking to the pew with sweat.  I don't rememeber ever noticing that Betty Sue has tiny hands before.  I look down at her feet and they are tiny, in little fancy sandals that look as if they are silver and tourquoise.  I hadn't noticed them before. Her nose is tiny, too.  I feel like an elephant sitting next to her, and I am not a huge person.

            Pastor Wrs continues saying calming words to the restless congregation, and Harmon walks up and stands beside him.  He is beaming.  (I am not writing this as it happens, because I am holding Betty Sue's hand between both of mine, but I continue, later, to write in the first person present, because that is how I started this chapter, which was a continuation of the previous FPP chapters.)

            Harmon takes over, says a few more soothing words, and gently leads the topic of conversation back to God in Iraq.  I follow him at first, because I really want to hear what he has to say, but I keep thinking about Betty Sue, Shannon and the severed hand.  If you find a severed hand, what do you do with it?  I want to ask Betty Sue but I'm afraid to whisper to her, since we're in the front pew, so it will have to wait.  I want to as her about her sandals, too.

            The next thing I know, we're leaving the church and Harmon has his arm around Betty Sue as we emerge into the brilliant sunshine.  I know he, Jake and Trey are looking for Shannon, and I am looking too, but we don't see him.

            We walk down past the campground to Dfg, the restaunant Harmon had promised to take us to after the sermon, and he does as he promised and buys as all, including Betty Sue, a huge brunch. Obviously, he must have gotten paid.  Did he tell them about being defrocked?  In the light of the morning's events, I don't want to ask that. 

            The food at Dfg is really good, just as Harmon said it would be, fresh and cooked just right, and with more food than anyone could eat, eggs, grits, home fries, bacon, ham, steak, toast, juice coffee.  They bring us some little fancy omelets and biscuits with gravy.  Waffles with berries.  Every waitress arrives at our table with a new treat.  After a few minutes, I push my plate away and so does Betty Sue, but Harmon, Jake and Trey keep shoveling it in.  Trey stops next, and then Jake, but Harmon is like an eating machine. 

            The waitresses seem to love him. They all gather around and watch.  At one point, when he is wolfing down a huge piece of apple pie with icecream and chocolate sauce, they all start clapping and cheering.  When he takes the last bite, he stands up and bows very low and everyone laughs.

            But when we get back to the dock on the river where we'd left the raft tied up, it's gone.  Amigo is gone with it, as Jake had left him in the tent, as he often does when we leave the raft and can'tt ake him.  He does that becuase he doesn't want kids throwing rocks at him or taunting him. 

            The harbormaster, a wizened old black guy named Rodney Jones, tells us some huge redhead came by in a jacked up pick-up truck and cut the raft loose and peeled out in a shower of stones before he could stop him.  He apologizes profusely, bowing his head.

            Harmon hires Rodney Jones to take us down river in pursuit of the raft, and Rodney ("call me Rod") leaves his harbormaster desk and takes us in a small mororboat.  We fill it to point where it looks as if water will come over the gunnels, but Rod doesn't complain or seem worried.  I worry instead about his responsibilties and his job, but no else seems concerned.

            Luckily, we haven't gone too far when we spot the raft hung up on a fallen tree.  After we all clambor aboard through a mess of branches, Harmon gives the old man a big tip and he motors back toward his post.

            I was worried that Shannon would have slashed the new tent but I guess he was so eager to get going that he didn't take the time for that.  ((Last night, I saw my first fireflies and now I am hearing my furst cicadas!!)  I let Aigo out and he slobbers all over my face and lifts his leg on one of the branches in the schmaz over the the water.

            The tent is caught in a cage of branches from a fallen tree.  A couple of broken branches are pressed against the tent and again, I worry that the new tent will be ripped.  It is my job to hold back the branches around the tent as Jake, Harmon and Trey pole the raft upstream against a strong pocket of current. Betty Sue tries to help, but at first, she's mostly getting in the way.  Even with all three of the guys poling, it doesn't look like we're going to free ourselves.  The raft twirls inside the branches and heads back toward the the broken snags. 

            I shout that we're going to lose the tent.  Betty Sue is screaming something, and Jake is yelling orders.  I don't think I'm strong enough to deflect the branches at the speed we're going, so I quickly deflate one side of the tent instead, by unhooking the main curved poles at the ends. As I am doing my side, Betty Sue miraculously comes to her senses and follows suit with her side and the tent goes down just as the largest of the broken branches bears down on where the tent had been moments earlier.  Betty Sue and I hit the deck and roll to the side.  

            We sit up to find ourselves apparently wedged even more deeply into the tangle of branches.  I'm thinking that if we had loppers, we could maybe clear enough to go under the tree, but just then, with a great wrenching and grinding sound, we spin free and head downriver. 

            A huge blast on an airhorn almost knocks me down and just about busts my eardrums. I look up to see that we're headed into the path of one of the biggest boats I've ever seen on the river.  More mad shouting, poling and paddling and we spin by the boat on their port side.  Someone is yelling profanities at us, but I'm so relieved to still be alive I don't care  (Sometimes, people yelling profanities really upsets me).

            I start laughing.  Then I stop and look around to make sure we're safe, and, seeing clear water ahead, start laughing again.  I am thinking of all the time we'd been peacefully drifting down the river, when so little had happened as to be almost boring and then, to have so much excitement in so little time seems weird and somehow hysterically funny.  Everyone stares at me, and then, one by one, they all start laughing too.

            And then Betty Sue starts crying.  Her hysterical laughter morphs into hysterical tears.  She is saying something, but I can't make it out.  Finally, I hear her say, "It's all my fault.  If it wasn't for me, none of this would have happened!"

            And I say, "Is it your fault that Shannon tried to kill you?"

            "Well, no, maybe . . .  I mean, if I'd never hooked up with him.  He used to be so nice to me.  And being with him was interesting and exciting.  But Tiny," she says, sobbing loudly, "He's probably going to come after me, and maybe after all of us.  I think he's gone crazy."

            "It's the drugs," Harmon says, quietly, in his deep voice.  "They do make people forget who they really are and what they really want in life.  They can't remember what's truly important."

            "I was doing drugs, too," Betty Sue says, hanging her head.  "But I don't think I entirely forgot who I was.  Maybe a little though," she said, looking sheepishly at me.  "Sorry I stole your hideout, Tiny," She added, after a slight pause. 

            She looks so sad that I went over and gave her quick hug. 

            We settle into business of drifting downstream, staying as close to the bank and trees to our starboard side as we can to allow boats to pass.  We have baloney sandwiches for lunch and take turns taking naps.  I catch up on writing down what happened earlier on the mini Ipad.

            I am just wondering where Betty Sue is going to sleep when Jake brings it up.  "This was supposed to be a solo raftig trip," he says, in his cranky voice, "and now we have five people.  That's ridiculous.  And no bedding for Betty Sue.  Pretty soon, we'll have to build an addition on the raft.  I was supposed to be meditating and considering my life, which is hard to do with a hoarde of people.  Y'all should build your own raft and let me continue on alone.  But I suppose we should stop in the next village and either ship Betty Sue home or get her a sleeping bag." 

            Betty Sue and Harmon are in the tent napping.  I was listening carefully for any sounds that might indicate that they weren't actually napping, but I'd heard nothing until Jake made his grumpy announcement.

            "I'm not going home," Betty Sue said, popping her head out the front door of the tent.  "I want to stay with you guys.  I'm afarid of Shannon, he might try to kill me if I go home."

            So a little while later, we put into port and Betty Sue and Harmon walk up to the general store   Trey and I follow along behind them, while Trey digs around in his shorts and comes up with enough money for an icecream which he buys t and presents to me.  I take a lick and give it back to him and he grins, licks and hands it back.  We sit on a stone wall in front of the Harristown General store and put that cone away in record time.  Trey smiles at me funny and it makes  my insides feel weird.  But he doesn't say anything, which makes me happy and relieved. 

            Jake and Amigo stayed with the raft, to discourage kids, Shannon and anyone else from causing a problem.  I feel a little guilty coming back all full of icecream with none for him. 

            Harmon and Betty Sue come back with a new sleeping bag for Betty Sue and ham and cheese, both tied up in string.  Apparently, homemade ham, cheese and sausages are a specialty of the Harristown General Store.  They also have a big greasy brown bag of homeade crackers, so once we head downriver again, we sit around eating chunks of ham and cheese on the homemade crackers.  They are thee best I have ever had, all of them, the ham, the cheese and the crackers.  The cheese is shrp and soft, the ham sweet and spicy, but not too spicy and the crackers firm ebough to hold cheese and crackers but flaky, too. 

            Just as we're finishing dinner, it starts to rain, and I realize, other than a few showers early on, we've had no rain on this whole trip.  Amazing.  Jake gets out his poncho and sends the rest of us into th tent to bed.  He says, "Killer and I will take the first wtach."  Then he says that Peggy Sue is to sleep in the middle between Harmon and Trey. 

            Right away, I know he is trying to protect her from Shannon.  But that leaves me alone on the outside edge of the people pile--inside the tent, though.  But if Shannon has it in for me, which he might, I'll be unprotected.

            The four of us lie in the tent on our backs, staring up at the roof of the tent.  It isn't fully dark yet, and even in the rian, we can tell as we go under clumps of trees and out into the open.  Jake, sitting in the rain, is steering the raft along the river bank instead of tying up.  I know he thinks it's safer not to tie up. 

            I can tell that no one is sleeping, so I lean up on an elbow and look over Trey at Peggy Sue.  It's pretty dark in the tent now, but I can see her looking back at me.  "What," I ask quietly, "happened to the severed hand you found?"

            "Um." Betty Su pauses.  I though she looked embarrassed or worried, I couldn't tell in the dark.  "Shannon fed it to one of the dogs.  He had this dog, Grizz, that would anything.  He even chewed up the bones.  Then Shannon put the dog shit with the bones in black trash bags and put them in the garbage."

            "How long ago was this?"

            "A month?  Six weeks?  No, actually, I know exactly when it was.  It was on my birthday.  Shannon  took me out to dinner.  Then we went over to his house to um . . . to um, well, we went over to his house and I stepped on something .  . . ah, sort of squishy, I thought it was a dead animal.  I bent over to look at it and started screaming. 

            "Shannon clapped his hand over my mouth.  He said, 'wait in the house.'  But I ran over to the window and saw him toss the hand into Grizzley's pen.  Grizz                is the meanest dog Shannon  has ever had, and like I said,  he eats anything.  I saw him wolf down the hand in 20 seconds flat.  He has an enormous head.  He turned his head sideways and ground on the bones and swallowed them.  And that was that!"

            "So wait," Trey said, "when is your birthday?"

            "May 13.  Friday the thirteenth, this year.  I was thinking it was a lucky day, until I found that hand."

            "How did it get there?" I ask.

            "I . . . don't . . .  know . . ." Betty Sue says, slowly.  "But . . . I'm afarid Shannon killed someone."

            "Do you now who?"

            "Um . . . no-o-o . . . not exactly, . . .but I have an idea who it might be?"

            "Who?" All four of us said at once.  Jake was listening to, from outside the tent.

            "Well, it could have been Langly Gordon, one of the other dog-breeders and trainers.  Langly was a black guy, and I met him several times.  I think he was dealing crystal meth.  He had a big red scar on the palm of his hand, and although I didn't see the hand for more than a few seconds before Shannon snatched it out of sight, I thought I saw a big scar on the palm.  However, like I said, I only saw it for a few seconds, and it was kind mangled and bloody."

            "So," said Harmon, after May 13, did you ever see Langly Gordon again?"

            "No."

            "Was there an opportunity where you might normally have seen him?  I mean, how often did you see him before that?

            "Well, the dog fights were every Friday and Saturday night, and Lang was usually, or often there.  But he didn't show up.  Then again, either did Hermon Moss, his white partner.  I wasn't sorry to not see the, because they were, as Shannon said, real scumbags.  They were scary, and I didn't like them.  But I also didn't like the idea of Shannon killing them, because if hhe could kill once, he could kill again, and I could be the next target."

            "So why did you go with him?" Trey asked, his voice rising with question and concern.

            "He essentially kidnapped me.  He told me I was going with him in no uncertain terms.  A couple times, he told he'd kill me if I left him.  I was afraid.  Really afraid.  AAnd he slapped me around a little and said he'd do a lot worse if I left him."

            "But you left him."

            "Of course.  You can't love someone who's mistreating you.  You can't love someone you're afraid of.  Not really.  I was confused at first and though I still loved him.  He'd hit me, and then apologize and I forgave him.  But then he'd do it again.  I can be stupid and I can be a slow learner, but I was starting to understand that this wasn't the life I wanted for myself."

            There was a long silence and then Betty Sue said, "I want someone like you, Harmon."

            Harmon groaned.

            Jake, sitting outside the tent in the rain, which was faling steadily on the tent, spoke up and said, "You have no idea what you're saying, Betty Sue.  You could be jumping from the frying pan into the fire."

            "Harmon would never hit me," Betty Sue said, sounding a little petulent.

            "No," Jake admitted, "he would probably never hot you.  But Harmon is no saint."

            "Are you sure you won't want to go back with Shannon?" Trey asked.

            "Positive.  I could never go back to him after he threatened to kill me."

            There was another very long silence.

            Then I said "When did you get those super cool sandals?"  And everyone laughed.

            "Shannon Got them for me for three dollars at Dollar General," Betty Sue said.

            "You're shitting me," I said.  "I thought they were some museum product or something, made by Arizona or New Mexico Indians of silver and turquoise worth like hundreds of dollars."

            "No, they're fake."

            "They're beautiful," I said, my voice full of envy. 

            *            *            *

            The next thing I know, Jake is clamboring into the tent and Harmon is going out for his watch.  I am picturing him sitting in the rain with Jake's ponch, which probably wn't civer him.  I mean, he look Hagrid in the Harry Potter movies, he's huge.  Trey and I have the next watch, and we sit close together and crap the poncho around us   I have the job of steering and Trey is watching for Shannon and river obstacles, which is difficult to do in the dark, especially when it's raining. The surfave of the water is black and pocked with rain and the trees are black and dense.  If there iis something underwater like a snag or someone hiding in the trees, how could we see them?

            Nothing happens for the first hour and I am feeling terribly dopey.  I can hardly keep my eyes open, inspite of the rain that seems in around my neck and wrists and under my butt, which is starting to feel numb.

            "Poke me," I say to Trey. 

            "Huh?"

            "Poke me, I'm falling asleep."  He is watching for underwater snags, watching for Shannon and other dangers.  But he leans over suddenly, gives me a quict wet kiss on the mouth, wet wth cold rain, and and sits up again.  We're pretty close, because we're both under the one poncho, but I sit up staright, wide awake and totally electrified.

            Just then, Amigo, who has been curled at the back of the raft beside me starts barking furiously, and the raft tips,, and Tarzan or Robin hood or someone drops from the trees onto the raft by the tent.

            *            *            *            *  End Chapter, Taming Uncle Beast

            The raft explodes into pnademonium.  People are pouring out of the tents like clowns from tiny car at a circus.  The raft wrenches to a stop, knocking everyone down.  We've run aground, because Trey was looking at Shannon istead of at we're going, and Shaonnon probably purposely chose the spot for its underwater snag.  Shannon dives for the tent, ((more dead bird, a dove and a sparrow)), and Harmon, Jake and trey all tackle him.  I see the flash of blade and scream a warning but Jake has seen it too and grabs Shannon's hand.  Shannon is big and strong.  But Jake is strong too.  

,,,

Get new phone card!!

charge Fiona's battery!

 

20140707 Walking Home after Dark  I am walking home from Rolandale int eh gark and canot see what I am writing so who knows what it says.  I am exited because I jsut sae my first fireflies. 

I hav   I have a headlanp, biy I didn't birng it because I ddidn't know I'd be walking bacl after dark and it is not just a little dark, it is bery dr, .  There are streetlamps and tothe rotehr side of the street, biut they are few and far nbetween and manu of thema re out.  And I am wlaking along Balfuck Park where there are man6y trees on both sodes of the road, which means I am walking inb deep shadow.  There is a waxing givvous moon as well as the few streetlights,

            It is a warm himid night.  There are e fireworksd going off.  random personla fireworks.    It sounds a little gunfire.    Now I can smell the fireowrks, the spendt gunpowder.  The air here is heavy with it.  It's a warm humid night, the kind if night that holds smoke.    Now1 I can see some fireworks, the kind that majke little sparkles of light just aboove the lvel of the trees.  And one that made a big BOOM and then sparkles.  They aren't professional ones, but smaller persona versions.    I wonder why they didn't shoot them off ont he 4th.m  Now they are shooting off whistling ones.  It is 8:55 OM. 

            Some black giy riding a vike neat dead bird alley cucled bacl told me to watch myself out.  Watch yourself, he repeated several times.  I've been told that before.  He introduced himself as Goerge and wished me a happy warmed me again and rode off  I walked aluttle furt4her and came upon a bist.  Several cop cars and bags of stiff.  And black men striding around.  Hyst then, keith calls,a sks where I am and says hje will walk up to .meet me.  But bu the time he comes, I should be in the farms where it's a little safter.

            I am in the farms now.

            And, dimly, in the ditance, I can see Keith coming

            ]            *            **            *

            Tuesday, july 8, 2014, 5:20 PM, I am out on my first walk, while the beef barley soup is cooking.  Actually, the beef has been cooking most of the day and now the barley is cooking and when I get ack, I will add the carrots. 

            Keith stopped at his Mom's and just arrived home as I was gettingr eady to leave to walk 15 minutes.

            My hips are stiff but so far, knock on wood, not as sore as theyw ere yesterday and the day before.

            Yet.

            *            *            *            *

            A Bag of lies

            While I was traveling, I stayed a few nights with my friend Hennie Mavis in New Hamshire.  We walked talked, cooked, ate and art together.  We blabbed nonstop.  Face to face facetime is the real thing, and we took powerful adbvantage of it.

            I had brough Ballookey's Moleskine with me in hopes I might work on the piece that I am currently involved with.  I never did get to work on it, but Hennie, who used to be in the smae group, decided to do a couple of "guest" pieces.  She called them conversations I and Concersations II.

            Which brings me to the question, when do we have the right to tell someone else's story?  This turns out to be a big issue for me.  Bigger than I expected.  I've been working on several novels, yes, at once, including one based in part on my meeting, courting and relationship with my husband Biker Buddy.  Biker Buddy has a very interesting family.  I'd like to include their stories in my novel, but they are, in fatct, their stories.  Do I have a right to use them, even if they are never planning to use them?  Especially in a work of fiction?

            However, the story of the bag of lies, while not my story, becomes my story because Hennie has made it mine.  She has included my story in hers. 

            Henie's story:  Hennie decided to take some time away from her marriage to think about who she wanted to be, in the context of her marriage and as an individual.  She rented a room with Jane and Jane's son, Ben. 

            Hennie has always had a big garden and put many things away int he freezer and fridge to be eaten later.  She labeled the bags in felt-tip pen, peaches, broccoli, green beans etc.  When food is frozen, it is not always easy to tell, and of course, the date is importnat so a person can rotate their stock, using the oldest things first. 

            However, once the bags were emptied of thei original contents, she washed and reused the bags for othr things.  It's much easier to tell what something is in fridge, especially if you intend to use it in the next few days.  I do the same thing myself.

            So Hennie, living at Janes, put various leftovers in her labeled freee bags without chnaging the labels.  For example, she put kale in a bag labeled "Peaches."  Jane's son Ben put a sign beside the bag that said, "Bag of lies."  Hennie, Jane, Ben and I all thought that was apropos.  And funny, and somehow deeper than it seems on the durface.

            Forgive me if I got some of the details wrong.

            My story;  When we lives in a trailer on Humphrey road in Cato, one of neighbors trapped, shot, and in various ways killed some of our cats.

            We'd been discussing good neighbors, Hennie and I.  These were not my idea of a good neighbor.  The man who was killing the cats had no apparent reason to do so, no baby chicks, no birdfeer etc.  He was just a curmudgeon, as far as I could determine.  Needless to say, I didn't like him.  Hennie combine the two disparate stories into a single art piece.

            She did the same with some of the other stories we'd been telling.  That second painting was rather hieronomys Boschish.  You can see it here.

            *            *            *            *

            Tuesday, July 8, 2014, 8:21 PM.  I rode over to Staples with Keith and looked at the keyboard for the iPad Mini-othe xternal keyboard.  It's onl a little bit bigger than the Psion.  It might work as a substiture. 

            Which reminds me, hello.  I need to get a new card fpr my phone.  It runs out in ten days. 

            Anyway, I rode over to Staples with Keith and now I am walking home.  I crossed Mack and am walking through the car dealership because the sidewalk is closed but I'd seen and was considering photographing some fire hydrants that are being prepared for installation. 

            The sun is very low on the horizon and the light is honey orange and tangerine. 

            I do not remember exactly where the fire hydrants were and am a little nervous when I hear certain sounds behind me after yesterday.  Oh, here are some fure hyrants.  It's only three of them, and one is turned the wrong way.  But I photograph them anyway. 

            I think my fibro is a little better than yesterday, but my hips are stiff, making iit difficult to walk fats.  More fire hyrdrants, bu5t not very good ones and it's getting dark.  By not good, I mean therels a lot of junk that would get in the picture. 

            I walk past the florst shop, no, I mean the garden store, both of the locked up tight. 

            When I was at Staples, I was fiddling with various tablets.  I touched the camera app on one and a horrible image of myself came up looking very old, tired and baggy.  I dont know how Keith can want to make love to me.  It made me feel so sad.  A terrible sense of loss.  I don't mind being who I am if I don't have to SEE me.  But seeing myself is such a shock.  I never seem to get ised to being so OLD.

            I am wlaking slow because my hips hurt, but I always think things will improve and I will be able to walk fatser, jog, climb mountains.  But when I see myself looking to old, I know I will never be beautiful again. 

            I walk (limp) past a building with mirrored glass windows and I see my whole large fat, limping self hobbling past.  I have to somehow come to terms with being old. 

            Can people do that?

            My mother had a difficult time with it and often said she still felt like she was 16 inside.  But she also reached a point where she began to celebrate her age and tell everyone how old she was with some pride and excitement.

            I look a lot older than Heidi's friend Jane.  On the other hand, I look younger than many of the people at the biology club picnic.  Of course, some of them are actually older than I am.

            I think I'd look younger, to some extent, if I were not so fat.  But I have trouble losing weight, because I like to eat more than I should. 

            Like the old lady I am, I sit down on a bench in front of the voila boutique.  My hips and back hurt and I need to rest them/stretch them before I continue.  The voila boutique is French fashions, and very expensive, but it is not open at 8:45 PM.

            I have health issues like an old person.  I guess that's because I actually am an old person, even if I don't want to be.

            Wednesday, July 9, 2014, 2:06 PM I am walking 15 minutes on Washington.  I just dropped ML off at Joyce's salon to et her hair done.  Had trouble going up, then ML wasn't there ready even though I was a couple minutes late, them slow coming back--need to allow 40 minutes, not 30.  30 is pushing it in a dangerous way. 

            Anyway, she's getting her hair done and I am walking and then she's coming over after we shop for udnerwear and then when Keith gets home around 5 PM, he's going to make dinner--spaghetti--for us.  Then HE will take her home.

            Poor guy, he's on ten, worked ten yesterday and the day before as well as today. 

            I am, gratefully, so far todayy, feeling a little bit better than I have been for several days.  I've had very bad finro since I got back from my trip.  It's much improved so far today. 

            Yesterday, I did not have to take any meds, but it still hurt.  It hurt about as much as it did the day before ON the meds. 

            Thursday, July 10, 2014, 2:35 PM I am at the Greek Orthodox Assumption Church on Marter Road in Grosse Pointe Shores.  There is a huge air-conditioned bus waiting to take us to Jackson to see Pangborn, a Korean-born artist who has an interetsing life story.  Since they are not ready to leave and since I haven't walked yet, I am walking straight out intot he ball fields (it must be a church with a school) and back, with the aim of getting 15 minutes of walking in before we leave. 

            It waes me three minutes to walk out the the fence, and I see there is a creek or river there, oddly whatish green water, and I wonder if it's the Molk River.  The sky is stunningly beautifil, amazing clouds, and when I was driving up Jefferson from Brian Powers' office, there were sailboats on fark water with bilously beautful clouds and the white sails of saliboats and I wanted a photogrpah, but there was nowhere to stop, so I pulled in to Pier Park and rain out past the tennis courts, but the sailboats were in the wrong place and there were motorboats.  I didnt' take the picture. 

            In six minutes, I am back to the bus, but it looks no different tnan when I left, so I walk out toward the road.  I don't want to miss the bus, but I don't want to sit there doing nothing either, especicially since I haven't walked.

            Friday, July 11, 2014, 4:46 PM  I am out walking to Rolandale.  My first impression when I came out was that it was beautiful day, neither too hot nor too humid. 

            I am getting a late start walking today (but yesterday, I only walked 15 minutes).  The reasons I am getting a late start are several.  The last thing is that keith called lawyer about gettin a durable power of attorny and he wants me to go with him and get my name added as well in case he's not avaialable or dies.  He'd better not die!  I mean we all have to die, but hopefully not too soon.

            So we were sitting around waiting for a call back from the lawyer who was with a client, but it's Friday afternoon and he probaby just left.  The reason I  was waiting too was to check the calendar and get it it on.  Vut I am tired of waiting and it's so late I can't imagine the lawyer is still going to call.

            While I was waiting, I ordered two shirts, white tank tops, from Cafe Press with paintings of mine.  One is the Forget-me-not and the other the Dandhill Crane in graphitint.  I got tem in 3X, which is a bummer, as I was hoping to lose weight.  But I don't seem to be losing weight.  :-( 

            I did not do my diet any favors last night at Ella Sharp.  I started out trying to be really good and then ended up eating bad food before the night was over.  I should probbaly avoid such events.

            Anyway, before that, I finally called the Microsft store in wherever is, up there, stupid place.  Tey SAID they would call us when the Surface pros came out byt they never called.  ((So here comes an ambulance and it's got its siren on and it honk honk nasal sound that it makes at intersections and some idiot pulls out right in front of it, crosswise, wating to be t-boned and killed, I guess.  Duh!)  So anyway, I called Microsoft and they said we were just spposed to show up on the 20th of June.   GRR!  That's not what we were told.

            The young woman on the phoe said she'd overnight express it to me free "to make up for the misunderstanding" (which I now think is a crock of shit.  But anyway, I went ahead and ordered everything I'd previously ordered and a slipcase and service for 2 years ((There are SIX dead starlings in dead bird alley, but when I go to photograph them, the caera won't work because it has a dead battery.  It ran out yesterday at Ella Sharp.  I wish I'd charged it.  Wahn.  A young black man asks for the time while I am staring at the dead starlings.  My timer gets messed up and I have to turn it off.  So I won't know how long I walked and will have to call it 35 minutes or 30 minutes.)  (They young black man who was very dark -akinned and had big lips and big eyes and was pretty cute, in my opinion was wearing his pants completely down over his butso his entire butt was out of the pants.  That can't be comfortable nor make walking walking easy.  The terrible price of coolness or hipmess or whatever.)

            Anyway, as I was saying, ouch.  Hips hurt after extracting broken glass from inside my sandal.  So as Iw as saying, I ordered all that stuff thinking express overnight would mean TOMORROW, but UPS doesn't necessarily deliver Saturdays and they actually don't seem over express overnight and it may not come until Tuesday so now I am all bummed out that we didn't just drive up there and get it.  I'd have it in my hands TONIGHT!  Now it may not be until Tuesdya or later, a MONTH almost from when I was supposed to get it.  And I am feeling robbed.  Cheated.  Because she said the shipping would be free and it was lsited as $16.99 on the bill.  And she did some math for me and made it see as if I'd be getting the protection plan almost free if I ordered the bundle, but I think I would have saved more money to just order what I wanted separately.  I needed  to have been there at the store with Keith.  Grrr,  I am feel angry, used, abused and cheated and spent so much time on the phone that I could have driven and back and had the thing in my hand.  I doublt that the money I saved on gas by not driving up there would be enough to make a dent in what I spent.  Grr"

            Sigh.

            I hope I like the darn thing. 

            *            *            *            * EJ End journal

            *            *            *            *

            Thurrsday, July 10, 2014, 2:43 PM

            Dear Gail, 

            Hello, how are you?  You'll never guess what I'm doing and where I am going.  At least, I don't think you will. 

            I am at Assumption Greek Orthodox Church on Marter Road in St4. Clair Shores and I am walking through their soccer field waiting (in motion) for everyone to arrive and board a large beautiful air-conditioned bus which is headed to Ella Sharpe Museum in jackson, MI.  We are going to see a show and presentation by a Korean born artist named Pangborn. 

            I haven't walked yet today, so, since the talk is this evening and there's some opening with or'deurves etc before that and a long ride each way, and I don't know when or if I'll get to walk, I am walking a little bit now.  I'm about to get on the bus, though, and wait there so that I will not miss out ((especeially since I left my stuff on the bus.)

            I don't know if I will end up talking to people, as someone(s) I know are spposedly going to be on the trip, if not, I intend to spend the three hours of driving time working on my novel, Taming Uncle Beast.

            Since I got here early, I climed a front seat.   That offers maximum view as we travel. During my 15 minutes of walking, about 15 people have loaded onto the bus, at the rate of about one perminute, but not any of my friends.

            One of my friends who is supposedly coming is KT Lowe, and I have two items for her, a book and a poem in a bottle.  I'd like to catch her before she boards the bus so she could put the items in her car and not have to lug them to Jackson and back--we're not supposed to arrive back until around 10 PM or later.  Actually, upon goggling behind me yet again, I tink maybe I see KT way in the back.  Someone else is in the way, so I'm not sure.  If it is her, and she's already ensconced, I may not give her my items until we get back tonight.

            The people on the bus are all white, almost all white, dressed nicely.  The bus driver is black.  His name is Rodney.

            A woman named Tina got on the bus and people are complaining to her that she said the bus was leaving at 2:45 and that she should be here o time.  I was told 2:30.

            I hope I am not improperly dressed.  No one told me to dress UP for this.  I am wearing my shaman bear-tooth necklace, shorts, a plaid blouse, and have my hair down.  Tina, who organized this, introduces herself to me.  Everyone is still complaining that Tina was late and that Tina lied int he email etc.  Tina says we're waiting for someone who went to the war memorial.  "Here she comes," she says, "right there."  A white car pulls up and we'll be on our way as soon as she gets here.

            Joyce, who was the first one here, is showing Tina what her email says (the wrong time) as the late person loads and Roday starts up.  I'm guessing KT is in the way back, and I will see her later.  Meanwhile, I will sit quietly in the front by myself and work on my novel.  I have the best seat in the house.

            I am way up nighy with more than 180 degrees of huge windows to stare through.  Someone in the back is waving to me I think it is Deborah Benedict and if so, she'll tell KT I am here. 

            I feel funny without a seat belt.

                        3:27 PM The women around me on the bus are talking about selling $300,000 houses as we drive down a Detroit alley with bums and their whiskey bottles.  We are at the Dominick Pangborn house to pick ip more people and there is some confsion and enger because people who are supposed to be here aren't.  We got off the freeway and drove through all these back streets and now we are sitting here getting HOT. 

            I've been woring on my novel, so far just rereading and editing what I'd written earlier, which helps me get in my mind what's going on.  Phew, it's getting hot in here. 

            The blouse I am wearing is too big for me and keeps slipping to the side, exposing my bra.  I wish I'd worn a different blouse.

            One thing I hat about bus trips is the disrespect some people show for everyone else.  There is a whole busload of people wiating for a couple people who are meanderdering slowly this way with no effort at all to hurry.    I guess we have to go to yet another place and pick up more people..  Well, since I am actually working on my novcl, it isn't totally wasted time.  And there are none of the distractions of home (phone, internet, Graham, ect.)

            These people on tis bus are almost all RICH.  I don't fit in very well.  They are talking about rich people parties and openings etc.  We have reached the Capuchin Church and another mob of people is headed this way.  Is there even going to be room for them?  Someone may have to sit with me.  I hope not.  Also, everyone but me seems to know each other. 

            Some woman who is short and dark-sjinned and looks like she could be Phillipino starts acting as a cheerleader, greeting everyone.  Maybe she's Korean, maybe she's Dominick Pangborn's wife or something.  (Everyone else knows her; I am the odd man out.   I hope we're on our way now.  I guess it will take a while coming home, too, to drop everyone offl  I think I am the only erson on the bus wearing shorts.  I wonder how many of these people are artists.

            No one did sit with me  The cheerleader sat across the aisle from me.

            4:32 PM  We passed ann Arbor.  The ladies are passing around food.  They are friendly and invite me to have some.  First, there are peanuts  I am allergic to peanuts.  Then, cheese and crackers.  I keep saying, "No thank you." Tina comes up to complain to the busdriver about the heat in the back of the bus.  This makes me happy that I sat in the front  Now that we are moving, itls fairly cool here.  I have been working on my novel.  I reread it a second time, and then started writing some new stuff.  I am not rereading the whole novel, just the most rencent part.

            After I have done a certain amount of work, I start to worry about losing it.  I have already lsot pasts of this novel as well as sevral other novels (including the whole novel.  So I save the entire file, with this letter and the novel, under a new title.  That doesn't guarantee I won't lose my work, but it will prevent me from accidentally deleting one file anyway, becuase there's  a backup.  Of course, as soon as I do new work, There will be danger of losing that.

            It is a beautiful summer day, everything is very green and lush looking, the sky is blue with puffy clouds, it is warm. 

            Now they are passing around wine and ask again, sweetly if I want cheese and crackers.  I keep saying no than you, even though I am getting hungry.  I am not sure what rovisions are made for meals.  I am getting hungry (It is 4;48 PM now) and will eed to eat something.  I look around and see many of the people, mostly older women, are fiddling with their cell phones.  I wish my Psion was a cell phone.  I could email you and email my novel segments to myself.

            The reason I am back up to the top of the story is that I realized I'd left out a character!  I have to go back through it all yet again. 

            Tina is drinking white wine, eating a cracker and telling a story about her grankids.  When she visits them, if she finds anything on the floor, she puts it in the trash.  They can only take it back if they put it away.  I can't imagine doing that at Sara's.

            There is a restroom in the back of the bus, but I don't want to have to use it, though I imagine the one at Ella Sharp will be growded when we get there.

            I wonder who paind for this bus.  It just occurred to me to wonder if Rodney, the bus driver, knows his way around or is using a GPS.  Since I'm in the front I peer down att his controls.  I don't see any GPS., but I suppose he must have one  Early on, there was some wretched popular music playing.  I didn't notice when it disappeared, but I'm not sorry. 

            We pass a Jackson Exit, so we must e getting close.  Being here makes me rememer all the times we used to come and visit you!!

            We pass another Jackson exit, and the exit is closed.  it is the Jackson Community College North campus exit.  Ah, here is the Cascade Falls/Ella Sharp exit and we are getting off.  Someone os pandhandling at the corner.

            6:30 PM I am now in the auditorium.  I am definitely underdressed for this even.  Most people are very dressed up or somehwta dressed up.  But here I am, front row center, waiting for Pangborn to speak.  I have been examining his paintings in detail and I met Pangborn and shook his hand and took a picture of him, but stupidly, I neglected to charge my camera battery and I only have one camera with me--and it has a dead battery, so I didn't get many pix.

            They had very FANCY Or'deurves, which included rare filet mignon on little flaky ie crusts with horseradith and chicken and lettuce. 

            Amy Reiman, the exercutive director at Ella Sharp is speaking now.  I guess Dominick Pangborn is from Jackson.

            Joseph Turner, Mother well, Francis Bacon, Rolita influences.  He grew up in Jacson.  He doesn't want to be boxed into doing one thing.  Surrealism is very important, to communicate from dream inner self.

            Dominic Panborn's Koren name was  Jung last name singhan first. 

            8:08 dominc Pangborn was autographing books but we got herded back to the bus before we got to get our books autographed too bad.  Now we are all sitting on the bus waiting because not everyone is here,  (90+ percent are here, one or two, as usual, are missing.)

            Nina, the cheerleader, is, as I had guessed, from the Phillipines.  She is very cheerful, loud, talkative.  I got my picture taken with her, dunno if it will come out.

            The woman that held us up way back at the third church has gone back in to retrieve some recalcitrant person.  Tina left her wine in my seat spot. 

            There is a thin moon as we are driving away from Ella Sharp.  I have to say, it was a really fun event and I had a good time, but I ate some bad food, so I may be sick for a few days.

            I never got a chance to look around at Ella Sharp. except where our event was because there was too much going on.  It is 88:15 as we are driving back through Jackson.  I think I may need to come here again without the busload of people.

            8:25 PM We're on the highway--I94.  All through Jackson, I was watching for familar sights.  But things look a little different than I remember.

            I read through Dominic Pangborn's book three times, cover to cover (I  had also read it twice a the exhibit.)  I am probably going to send it to Frankie, even though he is probably still too young for it.  That it why I want to read it multiple times.  I am really sorry that I didn't get to have Pangborn sign it.

            I enjoyed Pangborn's talk, but he did really promote himself.  It was interesting, compelling and funny, other than the obvious self-promotion bit.  He's a pretty good speaker.  He has a few tics he needs to work on.

            One of the interesting things about him is that he is the son of an unknown American soldier and a Korena mother and he traveled alone to USA and was adopted by the Pangborns of Jakson who, at the time of his adoption, had 11 other children.  I met one of them (he is on this bus).

            He want back to Korea as an adult to find his biological mother, bit she had died a year earlier.

            Did I mention there is a thin nearly full moon, waxing, out the bus window, and lovely clouds?

            I wish I'd picked up a brochure to send you.

            9:41 We just let off a load at the Capuchin curch.  It's freezing in the bus new, and I did not bring a sweater.  I've been working on my novel.  Now we are driving down the Pangborn Alley where much earlier today we saw bums.  The Pangborn alley is all painted, but probably not be Pangborn. 

            We are driving on the sidewalk with the bus because a taxi is blcing the raod.  The bus is stuck now because some idot in an SUV was being a jerk blocking the road.  It takes a lng time to extricate the bus.

            The old ladies on the bus are arguing with the bus driver, giving him directions instead of just letting him drive.

           

            *            *            *            * ELG End Letter to Gail

--

Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives. 
C. S. Lewis

Mary

Psion Journal with Taming Uncle beast, 2 chaps.

20140621 Sara's birthday

            Saturday, June 21, 2014, 9:40 PM.  It's been a day.  I was going to say a bad day.  But i guess it wasn't entirely bad. 

            Today is Sara's birthday.  40 years ago today, I had anew baby girl, the new love of my life, the happiest day of my life to date, Erin's birth being the second happiest.  I tried calling Sara 3 times to wish her a  happy birthday.  First I got a wrong number.  Second, I got an answering machine with no infor to say if it was the correct number.  I sang a quick happy birthday.  The third was a second attempt at her cell (first, cell, wrong number, second, landline, unknow), third cell, got a voice message saying it was Sara Stebbins in a voice that did not sound like her, but the name was rights so I sang happy birtjday again.  I sent three e-cards.  I'm hoping to see them all next week.

            I have a box which I hope is presents for Sara but which I have not had time to open.

            I feel succulous at the mometnt which is part of why Iw as thinking this was a bad day.  I am all bloated for some reason.  My stomach feels as if it might pop!  And I didn't even eat that much for dinner, I'd say I ate less than Usual.  I ate a fairly normal lunch, but I did eat some pecans, quite a few, actually, but that was hours and hours ago.  And I few grapes.  Maybe 4 or 5 at ML's.

            I am also very tried because I did not go to sleep until after 3 AM.  I took an ambien at 2:30 wheen it became obvious I wasn't going to go to sleep on my own.  I also (today) had a sip of Keith's beer at ML's..  And three very small irish soda bread biscuits without ccurrants or raisins.  We had corned beef and cabbage for dinner, which was OK,  or seemed OK.  It's not my favorite food, by any means, but it didn't taste like there was naything wrong with it.  

            Yesterday, We spent the day helping ML move in to assited living.  The whole day and early evening.  Keith and Graham did the heavy listing.  I did some packing, carried samll things, called about transferring the phone, talked with the medical team to sign ML up for her call button and talk about assistence options, and helped unpack and put away things.  We had lunch out at Applebees.  That may have contributed to me sleeplessnes. 

            nyway, I fianlly took Graham home while stayed to do more stuff, run back to ML's return the U-haul Trailer, etc.  I went out for a short walk in the rain and then sat and rested because I was tired and cut veggies for dinner and then went out for another short walk (sadly, my totla walking time was only about 30 minutes.  It rained while I was walking, harder the the second outing than the first.  The rain ahd "low ceiling" made the smell frangrance of the Linden trees very strang and concentrated and I was cpativated by it and by some rabbits that stayed near me as I walked and robbins and grackles that sisn't seem afarid, even less than usual. 

            I wrote a "prepoemm" or extremely rough first draft *prepoem is what Phillip Boot called the notes a poem that weren't yet ornbanized into a poem.  While I was taking my second walk, Keith came home exhuated and starving and made his part of dinner (hamburgers0. !We had a very late dinner, read and went to bed late and this morning, I lay in bed  alittle late after not sleeping until after 3 Am, as I mentioned.  When I got up, I wanted to ornanzine my prepome/poem notes into a poem, and began working on it.

            I was having the perception that Keith was being a big jerk, but it was mostly me.  The less sleep I get, the more assinine he seems.

            I lack patience, companssion and forbearance when I don't sleep.  I went down to read him my poe but he said something at set me off (which I no longer remember( and instead lunch with him (it was around noon by then), I went upstairs in a huff and worked on the poem some more, then emailed it to a few people, posted it to Cowbird, facebook and twitter, which I probbaly wouldn't hav done had I not been angry with Keith, and then finally went down and a late lunch when he removed himself from the litchen I'd finsihed processing the current version of the poem, which is currently called, "A Room in the Rain".

            I remember what I was upset anout.  When I came down the stairs, I heard him washing my pan which I'd adventeantly left in the sink.  I've been trying to keep my stuff out of the sink when he's at home.  Yesterday, I caught him using soap on the omelet pan, which ruins the pan.  I've asked not to do that, so I was afraid he was doing it again.  I was more annoyed at myself for forgetting to clean up because I was involved with my poem  I prefer to wash my own dishes, my way.

            Unless I am sick.  Or overly bsuy.  Then I like to hide certain things so he doesn't wash them.

            I walk under some flowering Lindens.  It's a very still might and they are almost as aromatic as last night.

            There are explaosions from fireworks while I am walking, then the extended "artillary fire" of teh grand finale.  But then more inividuals.  I have no idea who had firweworks tonight, or why.

            Ut is very dark out at 10:11 PM, and I cannot see what I am typing so it may not even be legible.

            Keith informed me tha5t it was "a pleasant night," the implication being that I should go out and walk.  He's so clueless I want to slap him.  He probably thinks I am exagerating my exhaustion and stomach ache.  I am walking, but very slowly.  My stomach feels like a bowling ball.   Like a huge bowling ball, heavy and painful.  And I am tired from lack of sleep and a long day.

            After I had my late lunch, we went to Village Ace Hardware and got a bunch of stuff for ML's new apaprtment sunc as new shower cuurtains, a toilet seat xtended (which turned out not to fit and has to be taken back), and a bunch of other thinsg which we then drove up to MK's.  It's about a half hour drive each way.  Then we hung the shower curtain.  Keith hung most of it, and I did part of it (like 3 holes worth) while he was resting and rinking beer, but I only threaded them onto the hooks, I could not clasp the clasps.  I got two curtains, one clear inner one and a pretty greenish turquoise out cloth one.  We also brought one cooler full of food from the freeze and fridge at her house and one bag of food and a small saucepan so she could cook noodles if she wanted.  And some other stuff.  We (Keith) fixed the answering machine, which I'd set up wrong, but mainly because I got interrupted midstream--I fialed to plug it in and knew it had to be plugged in, but had gotten off track.

            I am home now, sitting on the front porch.  It is, in fact, a fairly pleasant night, a little humid, but not too hot.  It's Saturday night, and noisier than it would be most other nights at 10:22 PM.  (or later, as this Psion's clock is a little SLOW).  I wasled 45 minutes, but I walked very sowly.  Still, that's probably better than not walking at all.  My stomach still hurts.

            My husband is perverse or perverted, whenever I am exhausted and have a stomach which NO is not all the time, that's when he decides to saty up for hours having sex and crushing my stomach.  It's almost inevitable, seriously.

            Oh well, I suppose I should go in.  I would have liked sometime today to make up my missed time from yesterday and from three days ago, but that's probably ain't gonna happen.

            I tried to call Ellen back, did I mention that?  I think I did.  Huge failure

            Goodnight.

            He did whash most of the dishes and kind of clean the kicthed after dinner, though.

            (He did not read to me)

            Sunday, June 22, 2014, 4:25 PM We are riding in Keith's car after stopping by ML's house to pick up her garbage can (Kitchen wastebasket ) and then to Ml's apartment to drop off the wastebasket and a largish planter we bought for her balcony and now we are on our way to meet Ellen and Warren at Romano's Macaroni Grille in Livonia.  I'm afraid we'll be late.  We took so much time figuring out what to do.

            On the way here, keith had one of his childish road rage tantrums of immature riving, passing cars too fast, rage, and giving finggers.  Ive asked him not to do that whe I am driving nd he perisists in doing it from time to time and it frightens me.  I truly ish he wouldn't.

            Later, on the way back, I see another bunny and realize I forgot to warch for handicapped one.

            Monday, July 7, 2014, 4:33 PM I am walking to Village in brilliant sun and light wind but a few minutes ago, when I was trying to leave, it started raining hard, great plops of rain.  I ducked inside, waited a few minutes and went out while it was still raining lightly and watched the trailing edge oft he cloud disappear and sun appear.  The cloud is still up there, looking ominous and black, but two thirds of the sky looks blue with puffy white clouds.  A perfect summer day.

           

            *            *            *            * end journal EJ ££

            *            *            *            * Brainstorming Taming Uncle Beast

            I think that there's going to be a convergence of the "fictional" and nonfictional parts of the story at the church where Harmon is going to preach a guest sermon about the role of God in Iraq and Betty Sue is going for refuge.  There will be some kind of scene, may during the sermon. Shannon is tangling with the wrong guys, since Harmon and Jake were in the army and know what they are doing.

            Betty Sue runs to Harmon for protection, but it is Beast who actually protects her from Shannon.

            In a way, it would be nice for Jake to have a girl, but for some reason, I see Betty Sue with Harmon.  That still leaves Jake without a partner.

            Shannon has a knife and is high on meth and acid.  He comes after Betty Sue right up on "stage" at the church.  Jake disarms him.

            Betty Sue has taken on an assumed name, a pseudonym, and unbelievably, it is Prissy.  Tiny writes in her memoir that "truth is stranger than fiction," but admits that she chose the name Prissy for Betty Sue because once Betty Sue said she wished her name was Prissy.  (like some famous singer or movie star).(look one up)

            *            *            *            * Taming Uncle Beast, Chapter ?, Disarmament

            Harmon put on his black suit.  They'd stopped at the Laundromat and fluffed it with a couple damp T-shirts and pressed it with an iron attached to a chain.  Tiny thought he looked incredibly dapper and handsome and not at all like the wild bum on the raft.

            Monday, June 23, 2014, 7:26 PM, I am out walking a short walk from Rolandale.  We have not had supper and it's late, but the day disrupted by my having to drive down into the city and pick up Graham.  I tried to reach Keith to discuss dinner options, but he didn't answer the phone.  I was downloading opera at R'dale after downloading 5 cameras and cleaning cards.  I hope I cleaned all the cards.  Pandora took a LONG time.  I did not delete the bad pictures, which I need to do. 

            I was going to propose to Keith that I walk home and he start dinner and then after dinner, he drive me halfway back to walk back and retrieve my car.

            I wasn't able to walk earlier because my fibromyalgia pain was so bad I could hardly hobble around the house.  I finally gave in and took Meloxicam AND applied Voltaren get to my left hip, where the most pain was.  My whole self was very stiff.

            So anyway, even though it's so late, since I couldn't get Keith on the phone and left him a message to call me, I decided to walk 15 minutes and then finish the Opera download and try again to reach Keith.  Then If I walk home he can just drive me back to get my car. 

            I may have to call him again, because neither of us are very good at checking the phone messgaes. 

            A complicating factor is the rain.  It's not raining at the moment, but it has been raining off and on all day. 

            I think I am going to say that that very long walk I had yesterday at Kensngton makes up for the two misssed walk portion in the last week.  I can aim for 45 minutes a day again, and do more if and only if I want to or have to.

            I wonder if Keith has been stuffing his face with nbuts, chips or cheezits.

            It's been warm today, but's cooled slightly and there's a breeze.  The sky is completely grey and lightly mottled. 

            Yesterday, we had dinner at Macononi Grill with Ellen and Warren and then walked a long ways at Kensington.  The food made me sick.

            8:56 PM, getting dark.  I tried to call keith and got no answer, so I drove home after downloading aand isntalling Opera.  He was there making dinner so I never got to walk so I am walking now.    The sky is still grey, and few sprinkles of rain are falling, very few, and small.) It's gotten dark enough the most of the leaves on the trees except at the top look black instead of green and puddles of darkness gather under the trees.  Colors are

fading and greying.  Except a runner goes by with a bright ornge shirt that still looks pretty ornage.

            People have their trash out,  and their recycling.

            A comes aroun the corner with his red and blue strobes blodging my eyes.  It takes me a moment to see that he's after a blac guy drving a green truck full of lawn equipment.  Now I hear the the black guys gentle voice.  I can't make out what he's saying because I am walking further and further away.

            I think I hear crickets, but there is a loud buzzing sound, so I'm not sure.  I do hear bird cheeping their evening songs. 

            I think I am writing this in the wrong area of the documentl..  But it is too dark now to try to edit anything.

            As I am walking along in the half dark, I pass some small bunnies, young ones, on a lawn.  as I approach, they run off a little ways, but one of them keeps rilling on its side as it attempt to make an escape.  Is it damaged genetically, or did it get hot by a car or snatched by a cat or dog or hawk?  It may not be long for the world, because it runs to poorly it culd be easily caught, unless it's a temproary problem that heals up quickly, poor thing.  It looks otherwise helathy.

            Saturday, June 28, 2014, 8~11 AM, I suppose I could be asleep, but I am up and dressed and sitting in "my" bedroom at Sara's while the rest of the house sleeps.  That is, to the best of my knowledge, Sara, Erwin and Frankie are all asleep, or, if awake, not making any noce.  I washed up, dressed, did my hair, and was going to work on my novel, but it's at a cruical point were Betty Sue, aka Prissy, is about to reveal some piece of information to the cops that could (will) change the course of the novel.  Depending on what I decide that Shannon has done or that Prissy knows.

            I just heard Frankie cough, a sign that the entire household may be leaping into action at any moment.

            *            *            *            * EJ 2

            Taming Uncle Beast, 2. *            *            *            * 

            I started a chapter with Tiny, Trey and Jake sitting in a pew waiting for Harmon to begin preaching.   Tiny is writing on her iPad mini, She goes off on a long thing about herself that ought to used earlier when they're riding down the river. 

            *            *            *            *

            We didn't get to hear what Harmon said to the peeople in charge here at the ***** Church.  They whisked him away.  I wanted to hear what he had to say about being defrocked.  My guess is, if he tells them at all, it will be after he collects his money.  Well, I guess that's okay, because it's not my business anyway, and if he could preach before he was defrocked, he probably still can. 

            I do know what the sermon is about.  It's called "God in Iraq". That's a pretty scary topic, I hope he doesn't get stoned, tar and feathered or run out of town on a rail.  The congregation seems to be divided into two types, 3/4 ultra rednecks and 1/4 gentle intellectuals.  There's an artist's colony practically adjacent to the church, and Harmon said some of the poets and painters had turned out to hear what he had to say.

            The choir gets up and sings "Holy Holy Holy, Lord God Almight" and after the first berse, we all stand and sing along.  The version in their hymnals is different than the one I learned.  Not entirely different, just a little different, so I keep forgetting and singing the wrong words. A few people turn and look at me, so then I try harder to follow along, but after I sing it a little wrong one more time, I stop singing.

            When the song is over, Harmon walks onstage (wait, they don't call it onstage in a church, do they?) (What do they call it?")  Anyway, he walks out near the altar with another man.  They are both wearing black robes with some gold things dangling, like graduation gowns. 

            They lead us in a long prayer where we answer what it says in the book, and then we say Lord's prayer onlu they say that differently, too.  We say trespasses and they says debts, but something else seems different too. 

            Then the choir sings Amazing Grace.  After they sing the first verse, they start over and we sing along and luckily the words are same as ours, so I get to sing.  I like to sing, but I am not that good at it.

            Then the regular Pastor, Dr. Winsome, introduces Harmon as Pastor Xyz, and Harmon stands at the podium (I'll have to ask him later what they call it at a church) and begins to preach.  I am surreptiously writing on the mini iPad, but I stop to listen.

            He says, "Good Morning, dear children of God," and his voice sounds deep and resonant in the church. He pauses to look around the church, and seems as if somehow, he takes the time to look at each person.  He certainly looks right at me, and I shiver a little with expectation, even though I didn't expect to.

            "God is everywhere," he suddenly thunders.  I jump back, shocked and surprised at the rapid change from a quiet resonant voice to a loud thunderous one.  And then quietly again, he says, "Do you truly believe that, in your heart?"  And then he waits, cocking his head as if listening for an answer.

            "Amen," aa scattering of people say, 

            "Yes, suh," a few others day.

            "God is in you.  And God is love.  You can feel God's love if you open your heart.  Open it now, and receive his boundless love."  He pauses again, and again the amens.

            I think about my heart, opening to God.  I am trying to keep an open mind, but I am not sure I believe in God.  Sometimes, I think I do, and sometimes I think I don't.  I tend to believe in God at church.  I think I am a big sucker for sermons and persuasions of various kinds. 

            I imagine that my heart is a little native hut in the jungle, and I throw open the door and in flows all this sunshine and love.  I can feel it sweeping through me like one time I was little and I took a big drink of Grandpa Latham's whiskey thinking is was coolaide or something good, and all this heat went through me in waves.  I kind of giggled and passed out.  Now I am more careful. 

            But the weird thing is, I feel like I can feel God inside me.  And God feels like love.  Like love and joy, happiness and peace.

            "God is in everyone," Harmon repeats.  God is inside every person in this church, lighting each of you with deep love.  And God is also in the people outside the doors of the church.  God is inside the lawyers and the beggars, the cab drivers and the fisherman. 

            "There is only one God," Harmon Thunders, his voice rising to a fever pitch.  "But he is not our God, he is everyone's God."  He pauses and looks around again.  Some People are nodding and some are shaking their heads and looking confused.  "Some people would have you believe that is one true God and he is our God," Harmon continues.  "This is a failure of understanding.  There is one all powerful God and he loves the earth and all the people on it and there is no other God.  We all worship the same God, but we give him different names and he has different prophets and seers in different places. 

            "God is huge and essentially unknowable, so we attempt to humanize and diminish Him to we can understand him.  Different peoples diminish him in different ways.  Even calling Him 'Him' is a diminishment.

            "But his love is one love and his law is one law.  Even the people we call our enemies are full of the spirit of God."

            A couple people boo and someone sitting behind hisses.  I wait until Harmon begins speaking again and steal a peek at the guy behind us.  He looks like a redneck type.  He has a shaved head, a shaved face, and really red face.  He has a tan that ends just below his shirt sleeves.

            "Some of the actions carried out by people in the name of God are misguided." Harmon continues, apparently unperturbed.  Some heinous acts are carried out in the name of God, and not all of these acts are perpetrated by our enemies."  More boos. 

            "We have only to look in our own history books to see terrible things that we have done in the name of God.  Ask yourself, what would Jesus do?  Would Jesus murder little children and defenseless women and elders?"

            Someone in the back stands up and boos loudly.  A couple other try to tug him down and shush him.  Harmon stands quietly, his arms at his side, looking sad and patient.  I swear, he seems to a halo around him.  The multicolored but mainly yellow glass of a window behind him adds to that effect.

            "I came here to talk about Iraq," Harmon says, when the church grows so quiet I am almost afraid to breathe.  "It was not the Iraqi children who took down the twin downs on 911.  It was not the Iraqi mothers or the Iraqi elders.  It was a group of individual fanatics for Al Qaeda ((sp)), that is, terrorists."

            "Amen," some women in the front say. 

            "We have fanatics in our own country, people who kill numbers of innocent peopel, including children.  Think about ((give a few examples))."

            "Amen," say a larger group of women.

            "Iraq did not make the first strike against us, we made the first strike against Iraq."  Boos.

            Someone yells, "that's a liel" And several other men shout things that so scrambled I can't make them out.  I think I hear someone near me say, what about ((?))

            Harmon unrolls a piece of cloth he produces from somehwere on his person.  He unfolds it and unfolds it and holds up a black and white image of a woman carrying a limp child.

            "This woman and this child did not attack America."

            "Kill the infidels!" Someone shouts. 

            "Nits!" yells another.  "Destroy the nits before they become lice!"

            Harmon stands quietly again, for a long time.  So long I get nervous.

            Finally, he speaks again, "'Suffer the little children to come unto me,' Jesus said. And, 'Thou shalt not kill.' and ((add other quotes from the Bible))  ((Turn the other cheek))((Judge not, lest ye be judged.))

            At first, there is some grumbling and then people settle down and listen. 

            "When I was in Iraq," Harmon continues, in different voice, a sort of storytelling voice, and everyone sits back and relaxes a little, still looking somewhat wary.  "When I was in Iraq," he says, even more softly, "there were soldiers who worked hard to help communities where they were stationed.  They built schools and churches.  They helped repair people's homes. 

            "I set up a school near the army base.  I had a few of the men who had been trained in Farsi volunteer to help.  We didn't have too many students, and they were all boys.  Many of the people didn't trust us, and with good reason.  There was one boy, ((Iraqi name)), who was twelve yeras old.  He was small for his age, but very quick, smart and cute.  We used to feed the kids, because they were often hungry, and we played baseball and soccer with them, in additon to teaching them how to read, how to write, how to do math.  Some of them already knew a great deal and helped to teach other.  One of my volunteers was Alan, and he was dedicated to doing whatever he could to help. 

            "One day, Alan was building a fort for the kids and saw (()) coming and rushed out to greet him, and they blew up and were killed.  (())had a bomb attached to him, under his shirt."

            At this point, the church erupted in boos, and Harmon waited.

            "The bomb, we found out, was attached by forced and remote detonated.  It was not (()) who chose to kill, but another man.

            "You may ask yourself, if God is love, how could he allow such terrible things to happen?"

            He pauses again.  Cocks his head.  Everyone seems to hold their breath, though it seems to me they must know the answer.  I do.

            And he points at me.  "Free will," I say.  "Choice."

            "Yes!" shouts Harmon.  I shrink down in my seat.  "God gave us free will to make choices, and not all choices are ones he likes.  He wants us to choose love.  He will help us choose love."

            At that moment, there is a commotion outside the church, some shrieking in a female voice, an angry male voice, and the door bursts open and a girl runs down the aisle up onto the stage, smack into Harmon's out-stretched arms.

            *            *            *            *              end chapter

            A man is following, running fast, and wielding a knife, a huge knife, like one of those Bowie knives, or deer hunting knives.  He is hollering, "I'm going to kill you, Betty Sue. (Prissy?) 

            Jake vaults over the wooden barrier in front of our pew.  He tackles the man, who I now see has flaming red orange hair.  He grabs the man's wrist and wrestles the knife away from him and twists the man's arm behind his back. 

            The man is cursing mightily in a loud coarse voice.  He turns his head toward me and I see that it is Shannon Beckwith.  The girl, whose face is pressed against Harmon's chest and sobbing, is Betty Sue.  This can't be happening.  Real life never works this.  How did they end up here, in ((??)) just now, when we're here?

            Harmon is rocking Betty Sue in his arms.  Jake drags Shannon to his feet.  "I know you, he says, you're Shannon Beckwith." Shannon spits in his face.  He is shaking all over, and suddenly begins wailing.  Jake wipes his face on the shoulder of his shirt and twists Shannon arm higher up his back.  Shannon shrieks.

            The church is in an uproar.  Some people have run out of the church.  Some are dialing 911.  Some are shouting, some have joined Shannon in wailing.  Betty Sue wailing too.  Harmon is rocking her.  Weirdly, with all the pandemonium, time seems to be standing still. 

            *           

            I turned off the Ipad mini and leaned against Trey and he put his arm around me.  Then, after a minute or so of just breathing in the smell of him and feeling comforted by him, much like I did with Harmon, I told him that I knew those people, and that I was going up to talk to Betty Sue. 

            Trey followed me up, and I think he was keeping an eye on Shannon. 

            "Harmon," I said, loudly, almost shouting above the din in the church, "This is my friend, Betty Sue.  That's Shannon Beckwith.  They're our neighbors.  Betty Sue," I yelled, even louder, because she hadn't stopped wailing long enough to see or hear me.  I grabbed her arm and shook it and she turned her head away from Harmon's chest to look at me. 

            She stopped wailing.  "Tiny." she exclaimed, her eyes popping like in a cartoon, with surprise.  "What are you doing here?"

            "I'm rafting the river my Uncle Jake.  What are you doing here?"

            The other minister, Pastor Wrs, interrupted, saying, "Let's take the old home days into the back room so we can try to establish order."  He tugged on Betty Sue's arm, and she clutched Harmon as if her life depended on holding on to him.  "Okay, Pastor Wrs said, "you take her in the back room and I will finish the sermon."

            Harmon and Betty Sue, Jake and Shannon and Trey and I went into the room that Pastor Wrs indicated, and he shut the door.  I could hear him outside trying to regain order in his church.  There was shouting and mumbling and suddenly a loud chorus of music from the choir.  Then the people were singing and things seemed to be settling down.

            It was quiet in the back room, too.  Jake stood holding Shannon's hands.  Shannon stood with his head down.  Betty Sue was still clinging to Harmon and looking over her shoulder reproachfully at Shannon.

            Jake spoke first, "And what, may I ask, was going on here?"

            "He threatened to kill me," Betty Sue said.  "We were camping, right on the shore of Lily Lake, in his little orange backpacking tent, and he took some . . . " here Betty Sue stopped and stuck her lower lip like a little kid and looked at everyone's faces.

            Just then, we heard sirens.  The police were coming.

            "Listen," Shannon said urgently, "I can explain.  Can we go out a back door or anything?  Let me explain."  He wrenched free of Jake and took off with Jake and Trey in hot pursuit. The first door he opened was a closet full of vestments (?) and other clothes, but the second door led into the back of the church.  I stayed with Betty Sue and Harmon.  I had no desire to tangle with Shannon, in case he knew about my suspicions regarding his dog fighting and the grave behind his garage.

            I sat down in an old wooden desk chair, but Harmon and Betty Sue remained standing.  Tell us what happened, Harmon said quietly, but just then, the door opened and cops came in. 

            So we started over again, and told the cops that Shannon Beckwith had chased Betty Sue Fgh through the church with a knife, but he'd escaped and was being chased.  They wanted to take Betty Sue down to the station for a statement, but she refused to go.  One of the cops went out and got a form with had some info at the top and then a blank areas to write a statement in triplicate, and they took her statement. 

            This is what she finally said, "Shannon Beckwith and I were camping at Lily Lake in campsite number 159, right by the lake, in his little orange backpacking tent.  First he smoked some marijuana, then he dropped acid, and then snorted some crystal meth.  He lay on his back staring at the ceiling and suddenly picked up a knife and held it to my throat.

            "I was very scared.  I tried to remain calm.  I said, Shannon, 'give me the knife,' but he didn't.  He just held it there, next to my throat.  I could feel the tip of it against my skin.  He pressed it a little and then a little more.  I said, 'Shannon, give me the knife,'

            "He said he might have to kill me.  I asked him to give me the knife.  At one point he sat up and I scooted out under him.  I ran to the lady's room, thinking I would be safe there.  Silly, I know.  I guess it's left over from the innocence of childhood.  When you're a kid, boys don't go in the girl's room.

            "He did come in though.  I went in and slammed and locked the stall door.  There were other women in there, and one of them, in the next stall, had her pants down around her ankles, and I could see her feet shaking.  Shannon was crawling over the bathroom door and I was saying, over and over, like a broken record, in my calmest possible voice, "Shannon, give me the knife." 

            "I was trying to be composed and reasonable.  Meanwhile, one of the other ladies in the lady's room started shrieking for help.  I climbed on the toilet and went over into the next lady's stall just as Shannon was dropping into mine.  I bolted out the bathroom door and ran across the campground.  I ran down the entrance road, across the main road and into the church with Shannon right on my tail. 

            "I was hoping the minister would save me," she said, looking adoringly up at Harmon.  I rolled my eyes, because it wasn't Harmon that had saved her, but Jake.

            At this point, Jake and Trey came back into the room without Shannon.  Trey had a bloody nose and a black eye.  "He got away," Trey said, sounding disgusted and disappointed.

            "Officer Friendly," one of the cops said, "what happened?"

            "Trey is a faster runner than I am and he caught up with Shannon and tackled him.  But Shannon is about twice his size, and before I could get there, Shannon thrown a few punches, immobilized Trey, and escaped.  I couldn't catch him.  He disappeared in the woods.  I'm a fairly good tracker, but I wasn't sure if I should be tracking him without backup."

            "He's probably headed back to the campsite to break camp," Betty Sue said.  "Keep in mind that he's armed and dangerous.  And he may have killed someone before."

            "What do you mean?" Officer Friendly asked.

            "I found a human hand in Shannon's back yard.  It was severed and bloody. It looked like a man's hand. A black man."

            *End chapter* 

            "If you found a human hand in Shannon's back yard, why on earth did you go with him? I'd be terrified."

            "He told me he didn't kill anyone.  He seemed to be honest.  I believed him.  He was so earnest.  But then, today, he said he might have to kill me—and I thought maybe it was because I'd found the severed hand and could tell someone about it.  I was really scared."

            *            *            *            *

            Brainstorming

            OK, I now "know" what happened, back-story.  Shannon Beckwith's dogs killed two people.  It was an accident, but one that occurred in part because of an argument and a miscalculation.  The people who were killed were bad guys.  I have to figure out the logistics of all this however.  Could it have happened at his house when bad guys were attempting to steal the dogs?  How did the cover-up happen?  Where was Tine Lee?  Why didn't' she hear something?  Maybe she was staying at her friend's house?  Why didn't other people hear something? Maybe they did, but it took the cops too long to get there and Shannon (and accomplices?) hid the evidence.  How did Betty Sue find out?  Was she there?  Did she stumble in on the burial?  Was she there for another burial (dog) and see evidence?  Did she overhear something?  She found a human hand!             "I found a human hand in Shannon's back yard.  It was severed and bloody. It looked like a man's hand. A black man."

            Maybe it happened in the basement?  That might contain the sound. (and Tiny Lee and Betty Sue weren't there.) Would there be enough dogs loose down there, and enough space?  Did the bad guys attack Shannon and the dogs defend him and then go crazy?

 

            How does this subplot affect the main plot, which is about Tiny lee and Uncle Beast?  Do he and Harmon go after Shannon?  And if so, should that happen immediately, at the church?  And if not when?  Perhaps Shannon comes back for Betty Sue?  In what ways is Tiny Lee's "fiction" the same as and in what ways is it different from the reality of what happened?

 

--

Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives. 
C. S. Lewis

Mary