One of the Fisher girls was getting married and we were invited to a three-day, gala, house party in honor of the event. I was going on vacation, and could only make it to some of the party. There were lots of people there and Sue served a fantastic meal. For dessert, she had fresh, hot, buttered biscuits smothered in stewed blackberries. It was so vivid that I could taste it. I started talking to someone who I perceived as one of my cousins, but was really Bob Speary. He had travelled in from the city for the wedding and was very interesting to talk to. I commented that I never expected any of my relatives to actually be interesting, and that it was a pleasant surprise. It was time for me to go, so I rummaged in the closet until I found my purse, which was inside a hatbox. I went out to the car, which was parked halfway down the long, dirt lane to write a check for my expenses for the party. I wrote a check for $100, took it inside, and handed it to Sue, thanking her for the party. Sue mentioned how happy she and Paul had been since they got married the previous year.
As I left the house, I saw Paul filling some kind of tank from three Gerry cans. I instinctively knew that he was getting ready to blow up the whole place. I furtively went out the side door and around the side of the house and ran back down the lane to the car. When I got in the car, it was full of smoke. Mother was sitting in the driver's seat getting high, and she moved over so I could get in. I drove off down the lane. At the end of the lane was a six-lane superhighway. I wanted to make a left, but traffic was too heavy, so I made a right and drove a short distance before making a huge U-turn. I pulled into traffic behind a big box truck loaded with things. I was following so closely that I couldn't see anything bu the stuff in the back of the open truck.
Dispatch from Portland's March for Our Lives
1 hour ago