Panic had me by the neck on Friday. I didn't think I would be able to breathe again. But I got on the road and thought things through and it loosened its grip a little.
Saturday, Uncle Chuck sat on Maudie's deck and spoke the word of God. Big, flopping words, like "faith" and "Jesus Christ," rolled out of his mouth as he leaned back and watched the waves. Aunt Betty talked about her first and only concert.
"It wasn't very good," she said. "At that point Elvis was old and fat."
On Monday I got in the small, smoky car and drove back to Dallas, where Dave met me with a handful of Gerber daisies.

The things I was worried about last week have morphed into different worries. It's really not getting any better or worse, so I'm devising a plan that just might help.
I'll let you know if it works out.


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