My daddy lived on selling dreams behind the plexiglass "next" booth at the Horse Track. He lived the dream, in summer he'd be at the Coal Creek Canyon cabin, in winter they'd pack it up and follow the circuit to Hot Springs, Arkansas.

My step-mother was one of those rare earth-guides. She brought me great solace.

My mother lived on keeping people alive. She was in charge of the labs for the county area. I suppose she preserved dreams, help create more dreams, and certainly kept many dreams alive in that small town.

Her dreams were also in a very rare form. They came in the essence of my half-sister. This was a lifelong struggle of a dream, but it was headed to Wellesley on a full scholarship. Dressed in her finest, the dream-on-scholarship was rolling away on the rail train.

It's easier to invent the dream when it's away.

Shadows show up every where.

Beware of invisibility.

- 30 -

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