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51 could be the person that artists turned to for justification of their need to paint, sculpt, and create. And that’s the way it worked out. I put in my time on my family or on the gallery. Once in awhile Bob, who was interested in flying saucers, would go to UFO group gatherings but after a time or two with him I never again went to the meetings with him. Dull. Terribly boring. I had absolutely zero interest in that subject. The Barking Dog a2 eee LL was my new baby. At our first showing the crowd flowed through the rooms. Splashes of white wine and cigarette ashes fell and were absorbed by the multicolored jigsaw carpet design. I greeted my guests, both local artists, and the people whom I saw as potential clients. I was just a touch hyper, maybe I laughed and talked a bit too much, but I couldn’t help myself. It was too thrilling to look out over the crowd and see the visible excitement that moved through the rooms like electricity through water. I thought, Z’ve found my metier. and I could see he was watching me as I moved from group to group. When I neared the spot where he stood, the man straightened and smiled directly at me. My eyes must have widened in surprise. There was something about this man. The dark suit? His aquiline profile? His dark windblown hair? Was he the man from the piano? He moved toward me and I stepped toward him. I know him, I thought, but no, I didn’t know him. I knew someone who looked very much like him. Something clutched within my chest. It couldn’t be! The man at the piano! I had to talk to him. Our conversation that night led to a longtime telephone relationship with the tall doctor, but, as it turned out, he was just a friend. I realized before long that he had been sent just to remind me of my resolution which I’d made in Grandmother’s music room, Barbara: The Story of a UFO Investigator A man in a black suit stood against an inside doorframe ay. 440.04 Lae 7 4c. and I promised myself I wouldn’t forget again.