PART I – The North Carolina Woman Who Never Received Heavy Wait: A Strange Tale, Starring Riley Strange, Mary Lou Snow, Willa Sue Jenkins and Other Colorful Characters, Seen and Unseen
Been meaning to mention a small point to you. If I ever say anything in the future that you want to quote I feel it would be more accurate to describe me as a person who didn’t receive, “Heavy Wait” and contacted you to let you know. At the time, I thought you should know because maybe others didn’t receive their orders either. Not that accuracy matters to anyone but you and me. Haha.. On that subject, I remember your telling me since I didn’t receive “Heavy Wait”, maybe I wasn’t meant to read it. I remember thinking, who knows, maybe that’s the case. But, think about this. If I had received, “Heavy Wait” I never would have contacted you.
You left out that I called PublishAmerica and asked the woman who answered to look up the order your daughter had placed. When I said you did not received the book and I wanted to place a new order and would pay by credit card, she said that would not be necessary, the original order would be re-shipped. I reported that to you, and you never got that order either. All of that, and the fact that you did not then order the book yourself, left me feeling it wasn’t in the cards for you to read it. However, it is possible other people ordered it and did not receive it, and I will rest on that to see if there is anything there for me to explore.
PA sent me a royalty check last year for just under $11 on 11 books sold, the first royalty check and the first books sold to someone other than the orginal 100 copies I had purchased mostly to give away and try to create interest in the book. The royalty check was so stunning that I tacked it on the wall in my kitchen, where it still resides. I seriously doubt I am capable of writing a better novel, at least not one that covers the terrain I am being dragged through. The first three novels were wonderful stories but more fantastical. Heavy Wait might have been a lot more fun had it been more fantastical. As is, I ended up living the part of it I didn’t care for all that much (the ending), although you’d have to live in my skin, I suppose, to see it that way. Left me spooked about writing novels. Now I’m writing my memoirs, each day – going on 1,400 insallments on goodmorningkeywest.com, the oldest of the two goodmorning websites. [Later yesterday, I looked at Amazon and it had a few copies of Heavy Wait in stock, which might be quicker than going to PublishAmerica.com, which is a print-to-order publisher.]
I remember. I didn’t forget your generous offer. I thought about checking this Mother’s Day to see if they had the same sale. I never did check though. I don’t remember the price but it was a ridiculous cut in price. Down to almost nothing. I don’t know the outfit but I always half wondered if they made a mistake of some sort and didn’t want to honor a price in which they couldn’t have made a profit. I don’t know. It was odd though. When you called I think they told you it was a Mother’s Day Sale.. one that they always did maybe. Not sure about the every year part. I think I’d rather read the book you wrote about the important people in your life. If you ever come across a spare copy.
Yes, I forgot about the Mother’s Day sale, which the woman I got on the phone told me happened every year on all their titles when I asked why the book was being offered so cheap? So, if you could have gotten it cheap, you would have reordered it? Doesn’t look to me that you really lusted to read it. You might find a copy of A Few Remarkable People I Have Known by calling All Service Printing, Clarksville, Georgia. They published it and might have kept a copy or two. I haven’t seen a copy in years. Writing that small book was part of my rehab from the disaster of my dropping out of the 2004 county commission race, about which I wrote some days ago in the dunce confederacy post. I used Remarkable People as campaign material in the 2006 county commission race. Passed out copies at candidate forums. Also passed out Two Souls in Love in the next year’s Key West mayoral, but not as many copies. I still have one copy of that little book. Maybe the Spirit will move me to get Remarkable People republished some day, assuming All Service still has the lay out and can do it. Never know what the tricky angels have up their sleeves, although last night they had me talking in a dream with Major, who often stands in for Todd German, Chairman of Hometown! PAC in my dreams, about going out and finding a copy of the Keynoter today. No copies at the Winn-Dixie, which suggests the dream had a different meaning. Right after I declared as a write-in candidate for the 2004 county commission race, Alison Matley, the Keynoter’s Key West Bureau Chief, wrote a beautiful piece on me and my candidacy. Months later, after I had dropped out of that race in mass confusion and was spinning lost in space, I saw a re-run of The Last Samurai at the old Atlantic Shores outdoor movie theater in Key West. I had seen it the first time early that year in Tuscaloosa, when it was first released. I loved that movie. After the film ended at Atlantic Shores, I rode my bicycle back to my tent across from Smathers Beach feeling on top of the world. I had not felt that way in a very long time. Should have taken is as a sign of the coming upheaval. The samurai chief in the movie came to me in a dream that night and, with a stern look on his face, said, “You were the keynote speaker at a homeless conference and you didn’t even show up!” What had been spinning lost in space then turned out to a full-bore plunge into oblivion. The first sign of a rescue attempt was the poem “Shanghaied,” which fell out of me after I was told to go back to Helen, Georgia, where I had spent a few summers to get me away from the Key West heat and bugs during the summer. Not a good place, healthwise, to live in the summer, if you are homeless. That fall was when A Few Remarkable People I Have Known fell out of me, but I still was not all the way put back together, and it took about fifteen more months. Very not good idea to cross the angels. I have something working again today with the Birmingham developer who loves Wisteria Island, which seems directly keyed to the Keynoter dream and the Keynoter article of early 2004. Imagine it will be published tomorrow. Perhaps yours and mine, too, as they seem sort of kissin’ cousins, you having been from Birmingham once and having known Major and Gayle in Fairhope, when you lived there. Sloan
Heavy Wait is not recommended for religious types, skeptics, know-it-alls, etc. I suppose that rules out most people.
PART II – The Birmingham Developer Who Loves Wisteria Island Enough to Turn It Into Another Sunset Key, If He Had the Chance, Who Covertly Is Being Used Unawares By Mother Nature to Stake Her Claim to the Man-Made Island
Sloan – dagnabbit and other mean words… sad to see Christmas Tree island look like the latest photo. It looks as if it might have been sprayed with the stuff that electric companies use to keep their ROW clear of trees and such. R
Agent Orange was tossed around. Some sort of defoliant, apparently, as the Wilma storm surge makes no sense, when every Aussie pine on Key West, at Ft. Zachary Taylor and on Truman Waterfront, and on Stock Island and up the Keys to Seven Mile Bridge, including the Aussie pines near my place, all came through Wilma just fine.
The fellow I bought my place on Little Torch from in May 2006 said Wilma put two feet of seawater over the property, just up to underneath the trailer, which is set on short concrete pilings. He said he had hoped for a little higher storm surge, so he could total the trailer and make a bundle on the rising-water damage claim. Ex-lawyer, he, of course, thinking that way. I eventually lost the two mahogany trees on either side of the parking area, due to the salt water surge, but all other trees and shrubs survived. Some pretty tall native trees on this property, by Keys standards, and especially by Little Torch standard.
My next-door neighbors had several lovely Australian pines cut down, sawed up and chipped that fall, because they were “invasives.” They survived Wilma better than anything but the mangroves. I had loved listening to the wind whistle through their boughs. Fortunately, there were other Aussie pines on adjacent land they did not own, which still stand and provide some wind music, but they are not as big or as close to my place as the pines that got mulched and it isn’t quite the same symphony I loved so much.
Here’s something I received today from a Jupiter Beach amiga on “Australian pines.” Notice the defoliant she suggests. Fat chance a coincidence.
“Australian pines are actually Caribbean Pines and grow all over the Caribbean islands, Cuba and the Yucatan. One of the most destructive laws passed in Florida was to call them invasive and begin cutting huge groves of 100-200 year old pines down all over the State leaving hot dry acreage. The pines provided food and nesting areas for the red headed woodpecker [the rare one with the huge red head] and shade where temperatures were 15 degrees lower on the shaded ground. Talk about a foreign species and you have to mention orange, grapefruit and lemon trees from Spain and Iran or palm trees from Tahiti [the shipwreck off palm Beach with thousands of coconuts]. It’s obvious they sprayed … perhaps AGENT ORANGE… on the pines turning that pretty island into a dry desert island. Virginia”
Wisteria Island is coming back, some of the pines survived, young pines are growing, and lots of other plants, including natives and lots of Brazilian pepper, which I don’t think would have gotten much of a start when the island was a pine forest. As my amiga indicates, the invasive species down here is homo sapiens. They brought in all sorts of non-indigenous plants that proliferate the Keys and are allowed to be planted. We also have the invasive species to thank for the iguana tsunami and the pythons and boas and feral cats. I’m sure I only scratched the surface. Yes, I left out developers and their lawyers and lobbyists, and Realtors and Chambers of Commercers. Sorry, my developer friend, I just couldn’t resist. Maybe your distress over what was done to Wisteria Island indicates there still is hope for your soul .
I’m writing this rant from Coco’s Kitchen, using the wireless in the nearby laundry where I wash clothes and linens, not having a washerteia at the trailer after the two-stacker washer and dryer died just before I moved to Key West in 2007, to see what all kind of trouble I could get into down there – plenty, it turned out. Rose, who handles the counter while her mom, Coco, cooks, seemed to be pining for a little more traffic this Saturday morning. It slacks off pretty good up here in the warm months, maybe half of Big Pine residents are snow birds.
I said what Rose needed to do was put a billboard out on US 1 offering road-kill key deer, poached manatee and smuggled green turtle. Someone else suggested iguana. I said, yean, Iguana Nicaraguan, which is where Coco and Rose lived, before coming to the States when Rose was a tot. Rose look was to kill. The wildlife police would be in her restaurant all the time! Yeah, eating and cutting up with her and Coco. And lots travelers, who otherwise never would leave US 1, just to see who had the phazaz to put a billboard like that up on US 1. They didn’t like my marketing and advertising ideas all that much at Golden Flake, either. So far, pitching Key West marketing and advertising ideas is about like pitching Golden Flake and Rose.
I found myself musing recently what I might say during my brief remarks at Hometown! PAC’s call to candidates next month at Salute on Higgs Beach, where there is a beautiful stand of so-called Australian pines the fiends in the Higgs Beach Beautification Committee had every intent of mulching, before I spoke out in protest in a town hall meeting. They denied that was their intent, but I was looking at their plans on the big screen; they had stuff on the plans where the pines then stood providing shade and beauty. The way people lie to your face and, when called on it, don’t even blink or break sweat still astounds me.
They backed off mulching the pines, perhaps because I threatened to bring Helen Harrison into it. Helen saved the so-called Australian pines at Ft. Zachary Taylor from idiots in Tallahassee. Maybe the same idiots my Jupiter Beach amiga had in mind. Helen is the great white sharkette-goddess savior-protector of Australian pines in Key West. St. Helen takes zero prisoners in matters pine. She also runs a nice art gallery on White Street and her husband, Ben, might be the best musician-performer I have yet had the pleasure to see and hear perform in Key West.
Anyway, I said I’ve been mulling my brief remarks as Hometown! PAC’s call to candidates. I’ve been thinking of grabbing Mayor Craig Cates to the mic, whom I really like, and asking him why his hair is now white, when it was only grey when he was elected less than two years ago? I’ve been thinking of asking him why any sane person would want to have that happen to him, or her? I’ve been thinking of saying, “I get criticized plenty for not running to win and that is why I never get elected. Well, this year, I’m going to run to win, just to prove that my not running to win had nothing to do with my not being elected before now.”
Ron, you and I both know there is no way people want someone like me in an elected office. I don’t play by the rules. I don’t do what other people tell me to do. I can’t be bribed or threatened with social-outcasting. I can’t be cowed by threats of bodily harm or assassination. I have no business interests in the Keys and cannot be threatened by loss of business. Worst of all, I cuss, promote nude beaches, and don’t go to church, and angels not only tell me what to do, and not do, they tell me what other people are doing when I need to know what they are doing. There is no way HOB would have snuck up on me because the angels would have seen to it that HOB did not sneak up on me. There is no way Roger Bernstein can sneak up on me. There is no way anyone can sneak up on me.
What city would want someone like me for its mayor? Not any city I ever lived in or visited, and I have lived in and visited quite a few cities, and not just in America.
PART III – The Hapless Locust Fork, Alabama Woman Who Voluntered Herself To Be the Bashinsky-Family-Shit Historian Before Checking the Moon Phase in Her Almanac
Morticia was not happy with my comment in the recent tough love, local and personal post, that sending a letter to my daughters by Cerfiifed Mail, Restricted Signature was in appropriate. Her reply began with this a link to and page number in an article about my first daughter and her husband.
Look on page 12
Sometimes I say I am not going to email you again. Your comments to me seem so angry.
But then I guess that is what I get for trying to help people.
The reason I would send a certified whether it seems cold of not. Well at least you would know they got it and no BS of I never heard from you.
Would you rather me never to email you again. All you have to do is say so.
Morticia, I am old, tired, worn out, mostly I feel bad, and bad shit keeps getting heaped on me to deal with. I weary of people who do not live with angels standing and even stomping on their necks 24-7, 365, about which I frequently write, telling me how to live. Saying it another way, I don’t have the time, energy or inclination to humor people who seem to ignore what I tell them about me. I wrote that I would contact my daughters, if the angels told me to do it and how to go about it. Wasn’t that enough?
I understand the point of sending mail certified mail, return receipt. I did it frequently, as a lawyer. Whatever I mailed to my daughters reached them, or at least it reached the younger one, Alice. What she did with it, I do not know. If you knew my daughters, you would know there is no way they let their mail be intercepted and thrown away. They might not have opened and read what I sent, but it arrived c/o the younger one. For me to send them something certified mail, signature required, would have been pretty rough on the receiving end.The article in the Jewish magazine is dated, but I am glad you sent it, as I had not seen it and there is stuff in it I probably needed to see. Since you are the hapless Birmingham-area Bashinsky-family-shit historian recorder . . .
I learned online that Nelle and Alice both were living in Lexington. Before that, I had learned Nelle and her husband, John, were living in Gainesville, Florida, where he was the Florida Gators batting coach. Before that, they had lived in northern Louisiana, where John was head coach of a regional college and his teams there did very well. I visited them there in1998, after their second daughter was born, but did not know they had moved to Gainesville until John got the UK job and I read about that online.
Nelle and I had talked about her converting to Judaism and I had no problem with it. She once nearly perished from alcohol abuse and became deeply involved in AA. I figured the more spiritual structure and community, the better for her. John and his family were devout Jews. Nelle had Jewish blood. What I never could figure, if Nelle was doing the 12 Steps, how she went the way she went with me? And how did her AA sponsor let her get away with it? And what about her rabbi? Did she talk with him about me? If so, did he give her a free pass? If so, no rabbi, he.
After John did so well at UK, he started getting wooed by Auburn and by Mississippi State where he had starred as a right-fielder. He looked Auburn over but he knew all along he was going to take the Mississippi State job, despite Auburn offering him the moon and UK offering him a big salary increase to stay there. And despite the retiring Mississippi State head baseball coach pitching a very loud and angry fit over the MS Athletic Director offering his job to John, instead of to his hand-picked assistant-head coach successor. John was quoted in an interview I read online as saying the MS job was a “no-brainer.” Nelle was quoted as telling Alice, when she asked why in the world they would want to live in Starkville, Mississippi?, that John had always wanted to play in Carnegie Hall and Mississippi State was college baseball’s Carnegie Hall.
I wrote to John at the address the helpful MS Athletic Department had told me to use. John and Nelle had not yet moved to Starkville and he was coming down alone, while she sold their home and wound up their affairs in Lexington. John and I had talked several times of his dream to become a SEC head coach, and then be the head of the SEC itself. I was really proud of him, head coach at UK, then at MS, but wondered how it would go at MS, which had not been doing well in baseball.
In my letter to John, I summarized our earlier conversations and congratulated and wished him well. I also said what Nelle was doing with me was causing her and his and her children trouble. I made no demand, just the frank comment. Heard nothing back. John had once told me he yielded totally to Nelle on all things family. Since John took over as MS, I think he’s now in his third season there, no kicking ass. Dragging up the cellar in the Western Division, or darn close to it. I wonder if the way he dealt with my plea has anything to do with that?
Not all that long, maybe a year, after John and Nelle moved to Starkville, Alice and her second husband left Lexington and moved to Ashville, which is where Alice and her first husband, David, had lived. I visited Alice and David briefly there, in 1995. Alice and I took a walk that evening. She asked if I had any advice for her. I said since she asked, my advice was for her never to let anything come between her and her marriage, even if it meant she had to kill it.
Some time passed. Alice and David both were accepted to the same medical school. Then, before the first semester began, Alice got pregnant. She meant to go one semester, have the baby and take a semester off, then continue. The med school okay’d this. But the fetus died and it took a while to discover that. Alice went through a serious medical crisis and a long time recovering. She told me she had never been happier than when she was pregnant. I said it looked to me that her soul could not cope with having a baby and her medical school training at the same time, and she could have children later. It was how I saw it, and I still think that is what happened.
In early January 2000, Nelle told me Alice and David were having problems. I was pretty sure the problem was Alice putting everything into medical school and David wasn’t getting anything from her. He seemed able to handle being married and training to be a doctor. So I wrote to Alice and David about the importance of sticking it out. I reminded Alice of the advice she had sought. I said I had made the mistake of putting things ahead of her and her sister and their mother. Maybe that is what caused Alice and Nelle, and Dianne, to turn against me. Alice being a doctor was the most important thing for Dianne. Long story, but it was so.
In March 2000, I went to Costa Rica. Nobody in my family knew where I was. Through quirky events only God could have arranged, David found me in a tiny Pacific coast surfing village. He had come to Costa Rica on a medical rotation in a mid-country clinic, as part of his ER speciality intern training. They got a long weekend off and he rented a motorcycle, he loved riding them, and headed to the west coast and stumbled into me, to tell me he was leaving Alice. He said my letter to them had really upset her, but he saw what I was trying to do. He told me she had no time for him and he couldn’t live with that any longer. I gave him my blessing, wished him well. He was like a son to me, as was Nelle’s husband, John.
I wrote to Alice and told her what had happened in Costa Rica. Then, I wrote to her mother and stepfather and told them what had happened in Costa Rica. I urged them to help Alice see what was really important. I urged them to help her before she broke. Her stepfather was a physician. Alas, I wrote to the deaf. Maybe those two letters also helped to cause Nelle, Alice and Dianne to toss me away. Nelle and Alice are very close. I doubt Alice kept any of this told above from Nelle.
Several years passed before I realized Alice’s reaction to my letter to her and David caused David to decide to leave her. I had asked him in Costa Rica, what did he think the odds were of him finding down there the only person who could absolve him of divorcing his wife? He said the odds were nil. I said the odds were 100 percent because God had arranged it. David didn’t seem able to take it in. He’d had trouble all along comprehending that part of my life, but I figured surely that incredible rendezvous would have an effect. Who, but me, could absolve him? Maybe it had an effect later. I probably will never know, as I never heard from David again.
This email below from Mortica crossed mine above to her almost to the second.
Is this your son in law..
I never can tell you what to do.. sometimes my crap is so screwed up it is not funny.
I just try to help others when I can.
AND COME 2012 I think I am going to be able to help you with Travis when the new census comes out. Keeping my fingers crossed anyway.
I just sent you an email with a good bit in it about John and his going to Mississippi State and my my last letter to him, congratulating him for getting the job, and my wondering something I had included in the letter had anything to do with how poorly his MS teams had done. And now this from you crosses in the air waves.
If there is substance to this lawsuit, then it is very bad. Very bad for John, for Nelle, for their daughters. Just the publicity, especially in a town as small as Starkville, will make them all quite uncomfortable and will make recruiting this year tenuous or worse, and pretty much kills John’s future, even if he and MS win the case. My mind cannot help but wonder if this is more karma from the letter I sent to John. No, I don’t know he actually received it. I know it wasn’t returned by the P.O. I know the angels did not tell me he did not receive it. I once wrote to Nelle about being told in my sleep that her brother was murdered, and then I dreamt she had no right arm. I understood the dream to mean she would not write back – she is right-handed. Not a Carnegie Hall result, John’s tenure at MS. Can’t imagine how his family in Tuscaloosa is taking this. His father passed on a few years back, but John’s baseball career was really important to him, so I suppose wherever his father is, he’s getting to see it unfold. It occurs to me just now, given this recent upheaval in John and Nelle’s lives, which news probably has reached Alice and and Dianne, this might not be a good time for me to try to contact John and Nelle, or Alice. Would be pretty hard for me to sound sympathetic, when I don’t feel sympathetic.
Here’s something I wrote yesterday and worked on some more.
About two weeks before I wrote to Alice and David about their difficulties, I brought up with my father his first son (Travis), my older half-brother, by someone the family did not know. I had learned of Travis in a dream and in the dreams of my then two best men friends, one of whom had worked many years for my father’s company. My father’s older brother had told me, when I went to him about it, that he didn’t want to have anything to do with that! My father’s extreme reaction led to my changing my name to Sloan Young and renouncing all of my inheritances from him, as per the angels’ instructions. All of which, leaving out the angels, I notified Nelle and Alice in a letter, and their mother. Maybe that is why they tossed me out. Whatever, about a month later I was in Costa Rica.
As for Travis, it won’t surprise me if that mystery gets less mysterious, but it won’t be because of any effort on my part. It will come about like I learned of him, like David found me in Costa Rica. It will come about in God’s way and time, as will anything having to do with my daughters.
Yeah, after a while the angels decided it wasn’t going to work out the way they wanted it to work out, if I stayed being Sloan Young, so they started a campaign to get me to become Sloan Young Bashinsky Jr. again and unrenounce the renouncement of my inheritance. I told them they were nuts, but they had their ways of persuading me to do their bidding. I wish they would use those ways on other people. Might make my life a bit easier.
My daughters clearly don’t want a father like me, and I certainly don’t blame them. I obtained both of their home addresses while you and I were going back and forth. You found Alice’s, I found Nelle’s. Maybe I will be told to send this to them, to give them plenty more to wade through, or throw away. That seems to be the angels’ way of getting me to show them my love.
You, being the Bashinsky-family-shit historian, file your copy away for posterity, or whatever. Maybe you will be the one to send this, and perhaps my other recent writings about them, to Nelle and Alice, before or after I exit this life. The sooner the better, I think. Some last will and testament, huh, Morticia?
P.S. Typing the caption to this email, I was reminded of a dream my good friend had who had worked for my father and had dreamt about Travis shared with me. I was being hauled off by the F.B.I., looking back at him saying, “I didn’t do anything wrong! I didn’t do anything wrong!” This dream came after my friend had dreamt maybe ten or twelve times about Travis, about fifteen months before I finally approached my father about it in late 1999. My friend had a serious heart condition, had had several heart surgeries, and when he came out the FBI dream, he was clutching his heart and in serious pain. His wife rushed him to the emergency room and after that she would not let him have anything to do with me. Dianne has a PhD in Psychology and Alice had some psychiatric training in med school. I tell you this because they think that gives them standing to “diagnose” me. Diagnosing me is the same as diagnosing the angels who run me: Jesus, Michael, Melchizedek. I don’t believe there is anything about that in college and medical school mental health courses. When I told my shrink goodbye in June 1998, after watching him inadvertently try to kill me for about sixteen months, I told him he had never had a patient like me before, had he? He said he had not. I asked if he knew why that was? He said he did not know. I said it was because there was nothing wrong with me but God messing with me. He had no answer to that, just as David had no answer to my telling him God had arranged for him to find me in Costa Rica. Just as I had no answer to the F.B.I. snatch dream, until the federal judge I had clerked for after I graduated from law school came to me in a dream in early December 2000 and told me he and I were going to be getting into politics. He had run the Democratic Party in Alabama from his chambers. He sent the F.B.I. to get me and take me into politics. He also sent the F.B.I. to get me about Major, after he went missing in March 2010, and I sensed and wrote online before his body was found that he had killed himself and had tried to make it look like someone else had done it, which is what the Birmingham police and the Jefferson County Coroner also eventually concluded. Perhaps still some work to do there, am waiting for the F.B.I. to send me what I need to finish my Freedom of Information Act Request on all files/information, if any, having to do with Major. Why on earth would my daughters want to have anything to do with someone like me? Why don’t the angels leave them and me alone re them and me? Why don’t the angels let the two websites, goodmorningfloridakeys.com
, be enough? Anyone who really wants to know me can go there. That’s the real last will and testament of Sloan Young Bashinsky, Jr. and Sloan Young Bashinsky, III, who live in this body together since around Alice’s birthday in April 1994. I already explained that to Nelle and Alice in a little book entitled Two Souls In Love
, which fell out of me in early 2006, which I sent to Alice for her to pass along to Nelle. In my dreams, Nelle, Alice and I are three souls in love. In my dreams, my father and I are two souls in love. That’s why I don’t spend a lot of time worrying about what seems to bug other people so much about my relationship with Nelle and Alice. That, and I have no clue what to do but about it other that what I am already doing.
I would be willing to bet my last yard of fabric and I probably have a couple thousand.. THEY read your articles. Do you have a way to see where your reader are coming from like I do on my blog??
Everybody Googles their own name from time to time and theirs will pop up.
You have thrown out bait, we will see if you get a bite.
Hi, Morticia. My websites show who registers. Registration not required to visit. I don’t see any place to ID visitors otherwise. Maybe Nelle and Alice keep up with me online. If so, they got an earful lately, and will get a double earful if I post what I sent to you yesterday before I put the last three days’ writings into one collection. The bait has been out there a good while now. I realized that not long after the first goodmorning website was up and seemed to be running pretty good toward the end of 2007. I think I recall writing something along that line in a post. I especially thought Nelle and Alice might get wind of and read what I wrote following Major’s saga going public. The first month I wrote about Major, I got about 80,000 visits to both websites, and about 60,000 of that was new and had to be from Alabama. I figured if I was going to hear from Nelle and Alice, the death of Major would have brought it on. But I heard nothing from them. I could take that in several ways, none encouraging for them. They had to hear Major had died and how it was ruled: suicide. Buttinsky
Or maybe I should have signed off, Buttoutsky. There is so much bait on the water there is no way not to stumble across it sooner or later. If not Nelle and Alice, their children. That is the reckoning I would dread, were I Nelle or Alice. Explaining to my chidlren what they had found about their grandfather on the World Wide Web, and that lots of people seemed to think he was pretty neat, even if he was pretty strange by homo sapien standards.