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47 stood talking on the telephone, silhouetted against the overhead light. I took a deep breath and pulled my sweater more snugly against my body. I took a deep breath, clicked the back gate open and called to the man in the window. “Bob. Bob, I’m back.” In seconds Bob appeared in the doorway. “Barbara Simon, is that you?” I felt both sorrow v and j joy rise within me. I smiled and ete A ce ates Le “Daddy’s dead, but I’m home for good, Bob Bartholic.” I took one step forward and he met me with opened arms. I had to laugh later because Bob never did get to the art opening he was supposed to attend that evening. We did something more important. We probably started our family. We married very soon after that and I had one child right after another, four of them. My life became a round of sickness, caring for children and for our too large house and working to try to keep up with my art. Those were lean and difficult years. Both of us tried to make it as artists and there was almost no money at all. Bob had found a new interest in meeting with a UFO group but I had no interests other than my art, my house and our children. In 1973 we moved to a rural area, a small town near m4 Tulsa. I think of 1976 as the year I broke out of Turley. (Editor’s note: Turley is a small working class town north of Tulsa, Oklahoma.) Our bodies continued to live in the house we rented there, but our professional lives moved on mm no 4: n Barbara: The Story of a UFO Investigator cried at the same time. to The Barking Dog.