Some names changed along the way. Carl became Bryan at one point and Masha turned into Freebird. People died, but I resisted Dave Berry's admonition to just slap on the helpful advice of “then they all got run over by a truck” as an ending. There were no trucks, but Nic Cage also made an appearance with an important message from the Mother Ship, in his inimitable Nic Cage style; he folded up into one of those theater pop-corn boxes, after delivering his message of warning and made the protagonist prop him up in his seat, so he could watch “Wicker Man”. His great grand-uncle, Maestro Anton, will be proud.
So, the risk of sounding persistent, my ex-step-grandaughter's birthday is the same day as mine. She will be eight years old. The baby, I was not invited to be present at the birth for – a friend (woman) had treated me to a Birthday dinner, earlier that evening, knowing that Bill was shunning me – I was in the house when his daughter called, and he just. . . left. Lest he think I were drunk, or impaired, I was not; I remember EVERYTHING, as does he. No one in Bill Nunnally's family, nor in John Holley's, nor in the Blanton family ever questioned my gradual disappearance at least to my knowledge, so God knows what lies he was feeding them. I had been a presence in their lives for 10 years, and had even driven down from Charlotte, NC a day early to watch his youngest daughter in a Swim Meet, when I was still honoring viola playing commitments in Tampa, Fl. I was happy to do so. I loved that girl as if she were my own. I was being systematically shut out by my ex-husband and sequestered, which is what spousal abusers do. Dr. Shay West reminded me of that, yesterday in relating her horror story. She went through her own holocaust and was relating her anger. In answering and thinking back, I got mad all over again. Figures. At least I'm okay with the rest of the world.