A Hot July

 

July is hot in Texas. Very hot, but it is the month of my birth, so I usually celebrate it with joy.

Not July 2024.

My dear friend, Mary Vaeth and I began the month of June with optimism. She is a neighbor, and we met years ago at our monthly book club, and we clicked at once. Even though Mary is twelve years or so older than me, we had much in common. She loved reading, visiting and writing. We often met for lunch.

One June morning, she invited me to her home for coffee. I arrived and followed her into the kitchen. She opened the fridge, removed her creamer, and added it to a cup of cold coffee sitting on the counter. She then took her mug to the table. She forgot to ask me if I wanted to make my coffee. I didn’t say anything, but we sat and talked.

My sweet friend repeated herself more than once, and I knew something was amiss. Mary’s memory and vocabulary were exceptional. I kept looking for unsafe behavior but found none. After our visit, I assured myself she was safe. I left.  I’m not always with it early in the day, so I thought Mary might be like me on that morning.

Later, Mary’s daughter texted me to check on her mom. I cautiously related the coffee incident. Her daughter thought her mom should see a doctor. Her daughter cares, and Mary is fortunate to have her.

The doctor said Mary had health issues, but they weren’t severe. So that’s good, right?

Or so we thought.

Mary had talked about going to a retirement home, and she had found one she liked. It a matter of days, or so it seems now, her wise and sweet daughter moved Mary to a new location where people could oversee her care.

Mary was both happy and sad. A new challenge is like that, don’t you think? We are excited to pounce upon a fresh adventure, but reluctant to leave the old.

I visited Mary in her new home on June 18. We had a marvelous lunch.  She had met a few people there, and she introduced me as her “famous author friend.” These new friends invited us to sit with them, but there wasn’t room, and besides, we wanted to visit by ourselves.

Mary ordered meatloaf, and I ordered shrimp and pasta. We had soup and salad first and we both had chocolate cake for dessert. The portions were small, but it was a scrumptious meal. Most of the residents were older than me, and I guess their appetites were waning. However, snacks were always available, and they had a happy hour with wine.

I found it was a good choice for Mary, but I knew she missed her neighbors and friends.

Toward the end of June, Mary developed complications and was admitted to the hospital with too much fluid on her body. Mary opted for a procedure that has a better chance of keeping fluid from returning.

On June 24, my friend had the procedure. Mary survived and was on the road to recovery. Or so we thought.

On June 26, she was improving.  She was sedated and talking to someone. We didn’t know who. Sedation does that to a person, but on the other hand, people who are close to eternity often see and hear people we don’t.

Mary was Catholic, and she loved Saint Anthony. She often told me, “We are on a first name basis. I sometimes call him Tony.” She knew I was Baptist, and we compared our views. I’d call her at times, and say, “ask Tony to help me today.” And of course, she would.

I visited her in the hospital on July 4, and she appeared in good spirits. 

She told me to bring our favorite sandwich and fries the next time I came. She passed four days later.

As Hurricane Beryl blew his way though Houston, and Mary decided to fly away with him.

How do we replace friends? Family? We don’t. We splice our hearts with inadequate band aids and live with broken spirits.

But our lives are better for having known and loved these valued people.

Old Friends and New Friends.

A Tumultuous July

 

July 2024 was roller coaster ride in this household.

July 1 - we discovered ice had accumulated in the refrigerator’s freezer section. We began working on it. A technician told us what was wrong, and we ordered the part. However, he was mistaken. When the device arrived, he installed it, but the gadget wasn’t the problem, so the ice is still accumulating. 

 

July 3 - we visited Shelley. I told her my birthday was the next day, and I sang the Birthday Song to me for her. Did she understand? I don’t know. I sang more tunes for her and told her it was also America’s birthday. Before we left, we quoted her favorite Scripture and prayed with her.

July 4, I visited my dear friend, Mary, in the hospital.  Mary had been ill for a short time, and we thought she was getting better.

While I was there, Mary and I joked with each other. As I left, I told her I’d bring our favorite sandwich on the next visit. She said, “And don’t forget the French fries.”  Then she said, “I love you.” I said, “I love you too,” and we left.

Paul then took me to dinner at the Texas De Brazil. It is in Town and Country, in Houston and parking is a challenge. We finally found a place in a garage and walked a good distance to the restaurant. I would never have found the car again, but Paul knows how to do those things.

This restaurant brings all kinds of meats on a skewer. I liked the lamb chops. Their salad bar was yummy, too. Those little cheese bread rolls were also delicious.  The lady’s restroom was interesting. Mirrors were everywhere.

July 7 - My son-in-law’s father passed away in New Orleans.

July 8 - Hurricane Beryl decided to visit the Houston area. The eye of the storm went over our house. Tree limbs came down in our yard, and it was a colossal mess, but none in our yard were uprooted. Many trees in our neighborhood were literally taken up by the roots and lay in a sad, disheveled heap.

Our daughter and family had just returned from New Orleans and came to stay with us because they had no power. We have a generator, and boy, were we grateful for it!

My son-in-law called his sister in New Orleans and helped plan their father's funeral while sitting at our table.

Death doesn’t wait for perfect weather, and there are no ideal times to experience grief.

July 12 – A church member passed, and we attended his funeral. We worried about the flooded streets, but we made it without too much difficulty.

July 18 - Shelley’s daughter, hubby, and baby arrived from New Hampshire. We met them for dinner. On the way home—devastating news.

Shelley's grandbaby. My greatgrand.,

Shelley’s hospice nurse called, and we spoke by phone for the thirty-minute drive home.  She told us Shelley wasn’t doing well, and she expected her to pass at any time. When we arrived home, Paul and I stood in the kitchen, put our heads on each other’s shoulders and cried our hearts out.  We’d been expecting such a call, but when it came, we found ourselves not ready.

July 19 - Shelley’s daughter and family, Shelley’s sister, and us went to see Shelley the next day. The sadness was profound. The family said their goodbyes.

July 20 - Paul and I went to see Shelley. She was in her dark room in bed. One of the caregivers sat with her. I didn’t see him at first, but he arose from a straight-back chair to say hello. He didn’t say, but I instinctively knew he was there to be with our daughter if she went to heaven.

Over the next few days, Shelley plateaued at this new level. Her hospice nurse said, “she’s a survivor.”  I replied, “She always has been. As a full-term baby, she weighed a whopping 4 pounds and 4 ounces at birth. The hospital nurses didn’t think she’d make it, but she did. I nicknamed her Tiny Tuffy.”

July 24 - We attended a late afternoon meeting with a hospice company and again visited Shelley. We ate leftovers at home and began watching television.

That’s when I collapsed. I told Paul, “I’m sick.” He caught me as I was fainting. After checking my blood pressure and heart rate, I decided to go to the ER. They admitted me, and I took an ambulance ride to the Methodist hospital.

July 25 - The day of my friend Mary’s funeral, and I couldn’t go. The rain kept people away, but at the 11:00 hour, the funeral time, I was in the OR having a pacemaker implanted.

July 26 - I came home. Yay!

July 28 - Lightning struck our home with a sonic boom. We were grateful the telephone was the only thing damaged.

July 30 - Doctor follow ups

July 31- More doctor follow ups.

Hallelujah July is over.

 

 

 

Reading My Book

 

Would you like to hear me read a portion of this book?

Here's the link. Gay on YouTube

Book Reveal "Sarah Stalks the Wrong Stalker"

Heaven's Little Goof up Angel, Sarah, really does it this time! The poor thing tries to help her charge, Laney, but Sarah can't help it. She's a disaster in the making.  There is an evil stalker who wants to kill Laney. Sarah's angel warrior friend, Tomas is sent to hellp, but Sarah can't resist getting involved. 

Sarah knows the stalker hides in the woods. But who is he? What can she possible do to keep Laney safe?  The answer is chaos with a capitol C.

I wrote all previous books with my name. Gay N. Lewis. I will write future books as G. N. Lewis. The name Gay has brought me many hillarious moments. Maybe I'll tell you about them sometime.

Sarah Stalks the Wrong Stalker may be my favorite Sarah book.

 On Amazon

The Phone Call

 

She sits in the blue, comfortable chair. Cellphone in her hand. The landline stays nearby. She waits.

Minutes click by.

She stares from one device to the other. Will she hear today?

The landline rings. Picking it up, her voice wavers. “Hello?”

Is this the call she dreads?

“No, thank you. We give to other charities.” She returns the receiver back into the cradle.

And she waits.

She jumps when the cellphone sounds. “Hello?”

 Her greeting always sounds like a question. Is this it? The call she fears?

“Oh, yes, thank you for the reminder. I will call you tomorrow and make an appointment.”

Sigh. And then another sigh. What kinds of communication comes to her these days? Postal mail to junk? Emails to trash? Doctor appointments to make? Unknown phone calls to ignore, but she answers. It could be the one she expects. But it is not. If the unfamiliar caller is fortunate, she gives a polite, negative response.

Hope grows short with each passing minute.

Why not put the information devices away and work on something constructive?

She considers this.

But she doesn’t move.

She sits.

And waits.

The room is quiet. No television. No music. The surroundings are unusual in this regard.

Tears gather. She wipes them away.

Will it be today?

Tomorrow?

Moments continue to tick by. Can she sit like this every day?

Night falls.

Still no phone call.

The hour is too early for bed, but she needs to change positions.

She charges the iPhone. The cell and landline phones remain on the nightstand.

Wearing her clothes and makeup, she crawls into bed.

And then, she waits.

She stares at the ceiling.

Sleep fails to come.

The landline clangs. “Hello?”  After listening for a few moments, she interrupts the caller. “Sir, I don’t need political solicitors at this hour.” She hangs up and glances at the clock. The dial reads nine o’clock.

Why do politicians phone this late?

She turns over and stares at the window.

The moon’s light slips though the slant in the draperies.

Dozing, visions of a vicious creature prance behind her eyelids.

Other monsters join the first one.

They jeer. And laugh. They jump with joy. They point ugly claws at her.

She understands they wait to consume her.

With a pounding heart, she awakens.

The cell sounds off. The bedside clock reads ten minutes after three.

She knows this is it. 

 Gay on Amazon

Meltdowns and Birthdays

 

Birthday in Tennessee 2023

I'm a proud American, and I'm a firecracker born on the 4th of July. Yep, I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy. 

The doctor told my mom I would come into the world before Sunday School. Not that she planned to go, of course. She was rather busy.

The physician promised my early arrival, but not before my dad threatened to throw him out the window. My father wanted my mom free of pain. Of course, the man in charge of my delivery couldn't do much to hurry up the process, but I guess his prediction was satisfactory to my dad. 

I don't doubt my father, Sergeant Morton fully dressed in uiform, would have made good his threat to throw the man out the window, but the doctor got me here, and my dad allowed him to remain safe and sound.

Needless to say, that was many years ago, but a woman never tells her age. Not this one, anyway.

Do birthdays depress you?

Sometimes, they do me.  

For some odd reason, last year was especially difficult. On this particular birthday, it hit me that I might not outlive our daughter, Shelley.

If you read my dementia posts, or my dementia blog, you know Shelley has been ill with this horrible disease for ten years. My goal and prayer is to outlive her. I oversee her care, and this responsiblity is always with me. Last year, I was filled with anxiety as I thought  about age and realized I might not outlive her.

My family convinced me to take a trip to Tennesee, and I felt guilty for leaving Shelley. She's safe and well attended, but an unnecessay feeling of wrong doing lingered with me.

So, without warning, I had a meltdown.

The mountains have always been my favorite, and we had rented a beautiul house on top of the Earth's surface. The home had three stories.

Without much notice, I sobbed. My sweet hubby said, "How can I help you?"

I couldn't say because I didn't know. I went downstairs to the first level and stayed there until the meltdown ran its course.

Did I pray? Probably. However, I was too angry to confess my thoughts. I feared I might spout off something to God that I would later regret.

In His kindness, He understood and consoled me as I sat alone in that cool, quiet, restful place.

I love mountains, and the Smokies are my favorite. I also love the Rockies, but God keeps me in Texas.

This year, 2024, hubby and I stayed home alone. We visited Shelley. I told her it was my birthday, and my hubby sang the birthday song in place of Shelley doing it. In years past, she sang it to me, but this year, it didn't register.

I didn't have a meltdown this year, but I'm sure one will come again. It happens.

My Dementia Blog

Gay on Amazon

Gay on YouTube

From Turbulent Skies to Rainbows

 

Are your skies turbulent? Rainbows are coming.

How do you feel about endings? The Merry Month of May is concluding.  Are you happy to see it go?

Perhaps it wasn’t so merry for you. Many experienced pain and sorrow.  A family said goodbye to their mother, and then a few days later, they suffered their first Mother’s Day without her.

Spring storms damaged homes across the country. Owners are cleaning up debris and their repair expenses are gargantuan. 

Tornados killed people and the remaining family bears overwhelming grief.

A friend moved into assisted living. A man transferred to Hospice with three months to live. Their families are undergoing chaos.

When Jacob, AKA Israel, found out his son Simeon had been left in the Egyptian prison, he exclaimed to the other ten sons, “You have deprived me of my children. Joseph is no more, and Simeon is no more, and now you want to take Benjamin. Everything is against me!” Gen 42:36. NIV

Jacob didn’t know God was working behind the scenes.

The storms of life bring challenges, but God is faithful. After Noah and his family left the Ark, God gave them a rainbow.

As with Jacob, circumstances aren’t always what they seem. Your rainbow is coming.

Take courage and believe.

Lamentations 3:21–23: “Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.” NIV.

Memorial Day

 

June 6, 2024 will mark the 80th Anniversary of Dday.

The Allies hit the beaches of Normandy, France on that day. My dad went in on June 7, a day later, it is known as Dday Plus One.

Seargant Edward Earl Morton

The sites he must have seen. All the dead heroes lying on the beach and in the water from the day before. He is one of the blessed ones, he made it through and came home.

 

 Mr. Tom Moore and me at church.

Another friend, Mr. Tom Moore, became a POW in a German camp.  He came home too.

I don't have his picture, but Mr. Jim Mathis was a friend and church member of ours too.

Many of my relatives fought in WWII, but these three, my dad, Mr. Moore, and Mr. Mathis were in actual battles.

These men who returned home brought horrible memories with them. None of them would let me interview them, and I tried many times.

I read an article today that reported 30% of America's current young people aren't patriotic. I wish they would take a moment to read the reasons they have that freedom.  Start with this article.

                                                         World War II

All three of the guys I mentioned above are in heaven now, but I will give thanks for them on Memorial Day.

Numerous Americans will gather today in backyards for barbeque, beer, margarita's, play games, and swim in pools—for them, it will be a fun and a relaxing time away from work. Grills will smoke with meat and the aroma of hamburgers and brisket will tantalize the taste buds.

Smoke on the battlefields was part of a soldier’s life during every war.  The smoke did not arise from a backyard grill and fun times.  Men and women fought on foreign shores for our freedom. It was not pretty, nor did it have a fragrant aroma. No fun in this scenario.

The three men I mentioned above came home, but Memorial Day is set aside to remember those who didn't. Let us pause at this solemn interval to give thanks to those who shaped our freedom in the supreme way. 

Fly the flag. Decorate the graves. Pause to give thanks.

 

Gay N. Lewis on Amazon

The Hot Brown

I flew into CVG Airport a week ago. This airport services Ohio and northern Kentucky, and it is a lovely, small destination, especially compared to IAH, the one I left in Houston.

My daughter and son-in-law were to meet me, but they got caught in traffic. Some dude decided to cross a line of travelers. His act cost him his life. A sad day for many.

While I waited, I explored the airport. I’m a big Astros fan, but they weren’t fairing well when I left, so I decided to have a chat with the Cincinnati Red’s mascot, Mr. Red. He was nice, but he didn’t say much. He merely smiled a lot. If he's married, I hope his wife doesn't mind my hand on his knee... er...thigh.

One of my goals was to have a Hot Brown. This sandwich was made famous in the early 1920s in Louisville, KY at the Brown Hotel. Hotel guests often danced into the wee morning. Well, it seems the chef, Fred Schmidt, grew tired of feeding people breakfast foods, so he created a new open-face sandwich with turkey, bacon, tomatoes, and mornay sauce.  Patrons loved it. It became famous and was soon a Louisville tradition.

The server recommended the buffet, but she also said The Hot Brown is always served.

I was there for The Hot Brown.

Eating The Hot Brown.

I confess…I wasn’t impressed.  The Derby had been held the week before, and perhaps the hotel kitchen had run short of ingredients. 

Who knows?  Maybe it was just me. You know, after all the hype about something, our dreams don’t always match the situation.

You will find the recipe here. The Hot Brown. The sandwich pictured in the photo looks nothing like the one they served me. Perhaps the guy or gal who made it in the kitchen had not seen this beautiful presentation. They forgot to toast the bread, and the sauce was too thick and tasteless.

The Brown Hotel in Louisville is a traditional guest house with a dramatic history.  Here's a picture of my daughter standing with me on one of the staircases.

Lanissa and Gay

Crossing this sandwich off my bucket list, I moved on to the next adventure.

Want to know what that was?  I had many!

Stay tuned!

Gay's Books

Negative Ned

 

Negative Ned

     Allow me to introduce you to Ned. The guy in never-never-land, you know, the one who is The No Man. This guy can’t say yes because to voice an aye would mean a change in his attitude.

The No Man’s wife came to my home to ask for advice. “My hubby turns down every suggestion I make, and I’m tired of it.” Her face grew flushed with anger.

Hmm? What to utter in response to her tirade?

“When you ask him to do something, he answers with a resounding no?” Just keep talking, maybe the situation will resolve itself.  That’s my motto.

“True. That’s what he does. If I want to entertain friends, he says, no.  If I want to vacation in a certain spot, ‘it’s Katy bar the door. He turns down every suggestion.’”

“Well, that is a problem,” I respond as I nod and smile.

Should I take her side and tell her the No Man is an idiot? Since she is a parishioner, this could mean a problem. She will repeat whatever I tell her, and then the No Man becomes mad, and the situation becomes a hot potato for me. We don’t aggravate members of the congregation.  Well, not on purpose, anyway.

So, I say, “What have you done about this in the past?”

She wipes a tear from her eye and says, “Nothing. I stopped voicing my opinion or my desire to do anything special, but I’m ready to make changes.”

“Hmm.” I say. “That’s too bad. Everyone deserves to have a say-so now and then. I can understand why you want to alter the pattern.”

At this point, I’m thinking the No Man is a real dolt, but I can’t say this out loud.

Instead of voicing my thoughts, I respond, “Why do you think he plays the Devil’s Advocate?”

Uh oh!  Should I have said that?  Oh well, it’s too late to zip my lip now. The cat’s out of the bag. I’ve just implied one of my congregants is one of Satan’s minions.

She doesn’t seem to notice my comment and replies, “I suppose he worries about money, my safety, or how exhausted I get from undertaking ventures.”

He might be a caring husband, or is he? Perhaps he prefers the simple life, but she’s missing out on things she might want. Is that fair?

“How nice,” I say. “He shows his love for you by saying no.”

Argh! Gag me with a spoon. A man shows love for his wife by spoiling her. I’m thinking this guy deserves a taste of his own medicine. So, I suggest this.

“Maybe you should tell him no for a change. Say something like, ‘because I love you, I’m going to be Negative Nellie and say no thank you to your idea of where to spend the weekend. I will go on vacation by myself.’”

She looks startled. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“He would throw a fit and tell me I can’t do it.”

“So, what else is new? He might see the light and agree.”

As she bites her lip, I wait.

What am I doing? Why didn’t I refer her to a professional counselor? I have no business suggesting she stand up for herself. On the other hand, she needs to grow a backbone.

She gathers her purse, ready to leave my living room. “I’ll do it! You’ve made excellent points. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

I walk her to the door and hug her.

“Keep me posted. I hope everything turns out well.”

I stand in the doorway and wave goodbye. I close the door and inhale deeply. Negative Ned is going to be as mad as a hornet when his wife bucks him. It’s time for me to run for the hills. When Negative Nellie calls Negative Ned out, the bad stuff will hit the fan.

It is my bad, and my suggestions have disaster written all over them.  You see, for some odd reason, my pastor hubby wishes to grow a flock. Not scare them away. And I think I just did.

Stay tuned.

Ring Up for Prayer

 

When my dad lived on Earth, he enjoyed telling family and friends about his grandfather Morton. That would be my great grandfather. I never met him, but I have a picture of the man with his immediate family. I can see the resemblance between my great grandfather and my brother Rick. These two guys were tall and lean. Well, my bro wasn’t so lean in the picture below, but his weight would come and go. Mine comes and stays. During his thinner times, Rick resembled our great grandfather to a greater extent.

           The Morton Family. 

Seated in the center, my great grandfather. 

My Grandfather is the boy who looks about 10 years old standing next to his mother.

   My brother, Rick Morton, and me.

Rick Morton

Younger and thinner days

I have no idea why people didn’t smile for photographs back in the “old days.”  My relatives look gloomy.  I’m guessing the antique picture was made about 1880, and times were likely depressing. Rick and I look happier than our ancient relatives.

My grandfather, the boy in the picture with sleeves too short, had white hair at an early age. So did my dad, and so do I.  The DNA from the Morton side.

My great grandfather, and I wish I knew his name, was a substitute preacher in the Methodist church. My dad loved and respected him, as did the people in the Texas town where the Mortons lived.

My dad wasn’t around when the ancient photo was taken. (Duh!  LOL.  You guessed that, right?)  But as a child in the 1920s, he visited his paternal family.

He said every night, the people in the township would come over to the Morton house for prayer. Those who couldn’t come in person would call up to the Morton house.

 

     

Phone types of the era. I don’t know which one the Morton family used.

Back in those days, phones were few, and folks who had them were on a party line. These call ins must have resembled early Zoom Calls. A lot of folks connected at the same time.

The phone receiver was brought as close as possible to my great grandfather. He then knelt and prayed in a loud voice so all could hear across the wires. He closed each evening in prayer for the community. People made requests for personal issues, and he mentioned them all to God.

In his later years, he grew sick with stomach problems. One evening his wife cooked cabbage, and my great grandfather said, “That smells so good.”  He prayed it would stay down, and it did. Citizens in the community begged him to ask the Lord again for food to stay down, but he refused.

Why? I don’t know. Perhaps he thought it selfish to pray for himself. I’ll meet him in heaven, and perhaps I'll ask. From stories I’ve heard, he must have been special.

I see announcements on TV for people to call a number with their need for help. A few churches maintain 24-hour prayer closets and record requests. Individuals on Facebook ask for prayer. Strangers pray for strangers.

People need the Lord. I’m happy my family prayed for others back in the day, and it is a blessing individuals continue to do this.

I doubt party lines exist today, but we can zoom call, Facebook call, or leave voice mail. I’ve even texted prayers.

I hear landlines will go away and only cell phones will exist in the near future.

A couple of people phone in for my Bible Study each Sunday morning. We don’t see each other, but they listen and make comments.  Sort of like the people during my great grandfather’s day with the audible calls.

The old is new and the new is old.

If you want to phone into my Bible study, let me know. I’d be happy to have you. Just like my great grandfather was pleased to have listeners.

Hot Money

I've mentioned my cooking disasters in past blogs. I'm just not good around stoves, and recipes never turn out correctly.

I burn food.

But I've never burned money. Not yet anyway.

I have a friend, and to protect the innocent, I'll call her Daisy. Daisy's husband owns a business. I'll call him Dylan. After closing the store for the night, Dylan brought home a bank sack full of cash.  Without thinking, he pitched the bag full of paper money into the oven.

Well, don't ya' know, the wife, Daisy, came along and turned on the oven to preheat to 500 degrees. She left the kitchen while the oven readied itself for the chicken.

Arriving in the bedroom, she greeted Dylan. He was changing into leisure clothes. Daisy changed into hers.

The couple discussed the day as moments went by. Soon, Dylan sniffed the air. "What's burning?"

Daisy replied, "Nothing yet, I'm preheating the oven."

"You turned the oven on?" Dylan's shout could be heard far and near.

Daisy nodded.

"Ye oh!" Dylan gave a yell and ran for the kitchen.

With mittens covering his hands, he pulled from the oven a smoking bag full of half-burned money.

With wide eyes, Daisy exclaimed, "How did that get there?"

Dylan trembled as he retrieved a few of the 100-dollar bills from the ashes. "I was in a hurry to get out of that suit, and I threw it in there."

"Is all the money ruined?"  

Dylan shook his head. "No, but I don't know about these bills that are mostly charred. I doubt the bank will accept them."

"How will we explain burned money to a bank?" Daisy picked up a black greenback.

Dylan snapped his fingers as an idea came along. "Let's dye your hair blonde, and tell them you are a dumb blonde who forgot she threw this bag into the oven and then turned it on. Maybe they will accept that explanation."

Daisy retorted. "Forget it Buster. You dye your hair blonde and tell them you did it."

Arguments got them nowhere. Dylan put the sack of hot money into the home vault, and there it remains to this day.

Family Secrets