Somewhere over the rainbow is a place where there’s said to be “no trouble”. An actual, physical, space, where there isn’t any trouble? Apparently, it’s too far “fetched” and far, faraway to “hop” on a train, or “jump” on a plane, and definitely not enough “row” for your boat. Maybe, it’s beyond the moon, or just hiding out of view, behind the rain. Or just maybe it exists, between the raindrops and the rainbow.
A “place” of bliss and harmony; contentment and euphoria; beauty and magic and the overall “sense” of connectedness and betterment. When Judy Garland sang; Over the Rainbow in 1939, Wizard of Oz, she enchanted and charmed the world over with a beautiful, simply pure, ballad. The song has captivated humans alike, around the globe; the concept of the possibility and probability of a “perfect world.” I “caught” a glimpse into that “dream” world; when spending time with my “Gram”, (aptly named a term of endearment) my mom’s, mum.
Blue birds fly and before we get our “boarding passes”, we must “check-in” at the “pearly” gate, upon arrival. Hopefully, no stowaways and your luggage is being safely stored and secured in the undercarriage of this fully loaded to capacity, 747, of one maverick, dynamic, exceptional, woman’s impact on my “world”. Her’ story takes us first to 1919, her birthplace. June was born in July, the youngest girl to Marion (Baba) and Opal (Gaga) Davis (my great-grandparents, on my mom’s side).
They owned and operated a successful, meat market in downtown, Sacramento. Marion was a masterful artisan and connoisseur of meats, meat preparation, butchering the “prime” cuts, and the culinary cuisine. Not a talkative chap but would “treat” my Gram to a grilled cheese and ice cream Sunday, upon occasion. Recipes, meticulously and secretly, handed down from generations, from the “old country”.
The “old country” was presumed (no one knew or wouldn’t say) England and Ireland, since the entire family “donned” bright, luminous, and voluminous, fiery red hair and icy blue eyes. Tempers to match, fierce independence to boot, a rigid and forceful “code of ethics”, strict, stern morals, and a Godly “approach” to life in general.
Where trouble melts like lemon drops and coincidentally, lemon drops, my Gram’s favorite candy! Most of the family (whom I’ve never met) hailed from Southern California, Long Beach, and many sunny, happy, Summers “spoken” about Pismo Beach. There was “lure” said to be a sunken, haunted, half-buried ship, full of treasures! When exposed, off of the shoreline of Long Beach (1800’s), after the tide “relents it’s clutches”, revealed, a “ghost” ship.
One brave family member mustered the courage to “board” the “ghost” ship, and returned, before being swallowed up by the retracting sea. Pockets fully lined with gemstones (long gone) and two, mysterious tiles (I carry today); presumably and much rumored, portraits of a king and queen of unknown origins. Perhaps, a vessel from a faraway land (Spain or Portugal, suspected) or floating, “Gatsby” going, casino-cruise-liner, that somehow met the wrath of “Poseidon” or pirates, and ended up wedged beneath the sands and sea. I foresee an antiques roadshow in my near future, but that’s another day.
After a long, caustic relationship (battled each other to their separate graves, “resting for eternity” at the distinguished Mount Vernon Memorial Park and Mortuary in Fair Oaks, California), the deteriorated family split apart for the last time and Opal left her abusive marriage and three, almost adult, children to go to work, as a live-in maid at Hearst Castle.
Known formally as La Cuesta Encantada, Spanish for the Enchanted Hill, and shared some fascinating stories. Just to catch you up, Hearst Castle, belonged to William Randolph Hearst, the publishing tycoon. After he inherited from parents, George and Phoebe Hearst, 11 million dollars, plus property (equivalent to today 165 million and the entirety of San Simeon) and hired “America’s first truly independent female architect”. For the next 20 years, they conceived and built the Hearst Castle you can tour today, along with 750,000 others, annually.
Someday I’ll wish upon a star and in the “Roaring Twenties” the stars were out! Hearst Castle reached “supernova” status. Guest lists included, the who’s who of Hollywood elite and political “luminaries”, such as: Cary Grant, Charlie Chaplin (The Tramp), Greta Garbo, the Marx Brothers, Buster Keaton, Mary Pickford (co-founded United Artists), Jean Harlow (“Blonde Bombshell”), Clark Gable (“The King of Hollywood”), Calvin Coolidge (30th President of the United States) and Winston Churchill (Prime Minister of the United Kingdom), to name a few. Lastly, even Charles Lindbergh “stopped-by” the Castle. After George Orson Welles, considered to be among the greatest and most influential filmmakers of all time; satirized William Hearst in his movie depiction, Citizen Cane, it too has become widely considered the greatest film ever made. Hearst Castle played the muse for Xanadu.
Way up high on the pedestals of the vastly rich and famous stood; enjoyed their days playing tennis, riding, admiring the views, golf, and swimming. A pool like “no other” and quoted to be, ” the most sumptuous swimming pool on earth”. It’s called the Neptune Pool and just based on appearances alone; looks as if, it was made by “the Gods”, for “the Gods.”
Exquisite, “otherworldly”, lavish, and exuberant beauty are a few adjectives to describe this divinely planned architecture, grounds, estate, castle, and history. The Neptune Terrace, in addition to the outdoor swimming pool, includes elaborate water fountains, swan lamps, ornate sculptures, marble (Greek revival style) pavilions, alabaster lanterns, plush dressing rooms, and a reconstructed ancient (Roman style) temple façade.
Hearst Castle has 42 bedrooms, 61 bathrooms, and a total of 19 sitting rooms, of which I could use a seat. Just 127 acres of gardens, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, tennis courts, a movie theatre, and an airfield, of course. In Hearst’s lifetime, he owned the world’s largest, private zoo. He also, through employment, housed my great-grandmother, Opal.
Now, Opal, was 4 feet little, maybe 11 inches tall, and wore her very long, red hair, tight in a bun. Past all the “pomp and circumstance”, hidden behind an ornate door, dwelled a long narrow stairwell, ascending upwards, leading to another much more, modest wooden door. Behind that door, lit with a candle, held a cot, and a small table to hold what little belongings, my great grandmother cherished.
After a long day, not even close to eight hours, she would get herself ready for bed, and write a letter to her family. Usually, the letters contained, the glamourous lives she served and catered too. Those solicitous letters helped mold the credulous, effervescent, and highly spirited, June. The extravagance detailed with accounts of the famous’ grandeur, splendor, and extreme decadence, not lost upon the impressionable. The opulence was captivating and the introduction of such accumulated wealth, art, and history, astounding and intoxicating. I wonder, if Opal, ever made a wish standing by The Three Graces.
High above the chimney tops, that’s where you’ll find me. Maybe considered small but surrounded by a buzzing and bustling transportation center; five railroads (two transcontinental steam railroads and three electric interurbans) and several riverboat lines. Fondly known as the “River City”, City of Trees, and home to the capital of the State of California; Sacramento is located at the junction of two rivers, the Sacramento River and the American River. Millions of years ago, when the sea finally uncovered most of Northern California, the valley floor was exposed, with the Sacramento River providing the major channel for water into which all other streams flow.
“Once by a word only lightly spoken…” there are “oral” traditions among the Native Americans in the Sacramento Valley speaking: “mysterious figures were transported over water, in a raft, to create the world. One dove from the raft into the water and came up with dirt. From that soil the world was formed.” Just a “nibble” of significant data for historical purposes, Paleo-Indians arrived about 12,000 years ago. The plush natural resources made the Sacramento Valley a “Garden of Eden.” For thousands, upon thousands of years, this land had remained ideal for habitation and I’m sure word-of-mouth about its reverence traveled far, wide, and very fast.
A factual, tangible, physical place existed and there was no time like the present; to explore and experience this mystical place of infinite possibilities. They flocked and came in droves for years, decades, and centuries; one reason or another, meant California dreaming was really “alive and well”. They traveled by boats, wagons, trains, and steamed their way across the plains, with every “means” possible deployed, from every cardinal, direction. Designed from elaborate tales and heavily guarded, drafted plans to “graze” the “California gold fields” and strike it rich!
Wake up where the clouds are far behind me. The Sacramento Valley in the early 1900’s; aviation, airplanes, and airships were a “novelty”, a complete newness from the “auto frenzy”, the decade prior. Aviation became Sacramento’s “bread and butter” and for the next century, a vital sustenance. Contracted by the government for World War I, Sacramento started building the “Jenny” (JN-4), bi-wing military airplanes.
By the end of the war in 1919, there was an excess and many were converted for civilian use. For decades thereafter, and still to this day, aerial shows fascinated and awe-inspired generations to come for public view at either the State Fair or Mather Air Force Base.
The fascination, or as I should say, obsession, didn’t end there. By 1929, the region’s farmers were experimenting with aerial seeding of agricultural crops (fruits, veggies, and nuts). Aviators were becoming a huge success and “big business”. This era thrusted us into the unknown and what an exhilarating ride we are on! Please fasten your seatbelts and ensure that all hands and feet are inside the compartment, at all times. Most importantly, we want to thank you for “flying” this airline’s friendly skies of memories with us, today. Enjoy your flight!
Dreams really do come true and we have made our final decent and have reached our destination. It’s a typical end of a summer day, reaching 105 degrees, this September afternoon, in downtown Sacramento. There’s a heat advisory and our beautiful sierra mountains are on fire. Be sure to use sun block if you’re going to be outdoors for any prolonged length of time. The “dog days” of Summer and the first inklings of fall, always remind me of my Gram.
The rustling of the expansive canopy of trees, the frolicking in the rose garden, the Olympic-size, crystal blue, pool, and the tower itself, made Gram’s house; the place to be! Capitol Towers is its official name. Gram reigned supremely from 1960 till 2009; that’s many decades, I haven’t even reached yet in life.
She was a “red-aissance” lady, entirely ahead of her time, and debonair, even though she was feminine. She raised my mom as a single mother and worked as the highest ranking “secretary” for two prominently established United States Air Force Bases until her retirement in the 70’s and taking care of me, Summers, or any reason I could find.
Well I see skies of blue and I see clouds of white and walking those grounds, full of delight. The Governor’s Mansion sits across the street, caddy cornered. The last “resident” who lived there for a “minute”, was Ronald Reagan. His primary residence, in the “Fabulous 40’s”, was getting a “make-over”. Every governor since has “opted out” of its residency, I wonder, why? It’s three stories and has thirty some rooms, “Second Empire-Italianate Victorian mansion”, built in 1877. Just sounds cozy and ever so “modern” (facetious).
The Tower consisted of 15 floors, omitting the 13th floor (superstitions), and at the very top; lustrous penthouses. At one time and initially, there were estimated, 92 garden apartments. Being one of those curious children and my Gram actually enjoying my inquisitive nature (inherited gene), she allowed me to explore, question, and ponder my ample and awesome surroundings. Around every corner was something new and completely fascinating. Sometimes “mind-blowing” and sometimes “sheer spookiness”. She encouraged, me.
And the brightness of day and after the rows and rows of mailboxes to the left, directly across stood two elevator doors. I must take a moment to discuss elevator etiquette; they really have their ups and downs. You should “hold” the door for someone, and especially if you have already made eye contact. A simple hello is friendly, but non-intrusive. Never “crowd” someone in close encounters or “quarters”; it pushes all of their buttons. Now, is not the time to stomp, make rash decisions, talk, or space invade. I have heard and “over-heard” some amazing tales happening all from an elevator encounter. If a “ne’er-do-well” enters your elevator or space in general; exit and catch the next elevator. Just sayin’, tight spaces don’t always elevate the mood. Hold the door, please!
Well, I see trees of green and red roses too. Upon its entrance you would arrive to a spacious, marble floored lobby draped with crushed velvet furnishings. Dangling above your perfectly coiffed hair, a colossal chandelier (worth today upwards of 30 -40 thousand); where Marge (Gram’s “bestie”), greeted and “perched”, while attending to the elite, notable, dignitaries, and tenants needs.
Surrounded by glass, mirrors, and sublime sunshine; two large doors opened upon the lobby and offices. I always felt right at home and spent as much time as I could with my grandmother (Gram). Pinochle, rummy, and dominos were our “games/weapons” of choice, and the “backdrop”/”battle-field” to “pearls of wisdom”, nuggets of truth, and sensational sensationalisms, while sipping classic soda for me, and strong, black coffee for Gram; potato salad, and mac-a-cheese on this lunch’s menu, and an aura of chesterfield kings for ambience. Usually, there was a San Francisco, Giants baseball game on the AM radio for “background noise”.
She told me, her most “crowning” achievement in life, was her work. That her family would never understand her or why she had to sacrifice so much of her time, nights, weekends, and sometimes holidays. She had to take 3 buses and hitchhike to Mather Field Air Force Base to work, and she never owned a car: excellent driver though. Years and years passed, mocked by family, and “rumored” whereabouts, questioning, prying eyes, tawdry conjuring’s; only to find out that “the truth”, was far more, “pearl clutching”, “earth shattering”, and fantastical than those puny minds could ever have fathomed!
I’ll watch them bloom for me and you and expressed before me were endearingly, poignant matters of the heart; confessionals sort of speak. Just as she was an expert gardener and tended lovingly and almost miraculously waved a “green thumb” over her flowers, plants, and fountain (Gloria); my grandmother parlayed to me, her most important lessons, contributions, achievements, skills, experiences, and everlasting, sincere, genuine, thoughts and wishes, from her past; for my future.
Gram was sworn to secrecy and could not risk or jeopardize the safety of herself or my mother; even if she couldn’t tell a soul, why. More priceless than the next, with each trial by fire she witnessed, documented, reported, and later commanded to destroy; she told me as much as she could; the good, the bewildering, the terrible, and the down-right ugly, awful, glorious truth.
They’re really saying, I… I love you! She was a “diamond in the rough” and she got prettier, wiser, and stronger, as the days, turned into decades. She “out-smarted” and “out-lived” them all. She was a “trailblazer”, like all the women in her family were before her, fearless almost to a fault. What sometimes was confidence, misconstrued as eccentric, and “over-the-top”. We would get stopped out shopping at Macy’s, I Magnum’s, or her favorite, Weinstock’s, and she would be asked to give autographs or have her picture taken. Uncanny resemblance to Lucille Ball, which she was unamused, whereas I was elated. I thought, she was Lucy! My Gram was a funny woman, charming and witty, with a quirky sense of humor, a tad jaded (that’s why she bought a lavish, oval, “perfect”, jade ring), more critical than anything, extremely “sharp” and smart, but light-hearted moreover. In fact, her motto, was “always stay on the bright side of life!”
Norell was her fragrance and style, flagrantly worn and “preached”. Christian Dior, her method of shades, and before its popularity today. Again, a pioneer (she would “hate” that reference, since she was more “city”, than “country”) in fashion and lifestyle for the “common”, or everyday person; like me, unlike her. Poise and posture were hugely important to her, and she would constantly tell me, “Stand-up straight!” Also, “you’re buying “cheap” bras and it shows”.
Her attire, mostly black (slimming), but of quality; particularly affectionate for Italian shoes, she said, “the men weren’t bad too, jokingly”. Quality before quantity, any day. “No cheap, (explicative word inserted here), but would “gift” you her last dollar. She was generous with others and gave what little she had to the SPCA or us. You would be surprised how little she earned regarding an income, but “it” never “showed”. Este Lauder make-up, with “less is more” applique, unless you were a clown, and I actually received a little flack for not wearing enough blush or roux.
West side story was her absolute favorite, because she “loathed comedy and “lived” for the drama of the theatre”. Distained clutter and disorganization as “dirty and uneducated”. Well, read, not as much breed, and had to stay away from eating bread. Celiac disease wasn’t “known” back in the day, but much later, was eventually diagnosed, and maintained a very rigid diet. Gram never got sick, because her words, “didn’t have time for that.”
Faithfully, wore her “gothic” cross around her delicate, sophisticated, mock turtlenecks. Never wore “revealing” clothes, yet spoke quite openly about sexual matters, but again mostly humorous, flirtatious, and harmless. She did, however, enjoy being “inflammatory, and say things for “shock value”. Sidebar, she “loved” photography, and especially got a “kick” out of taking pictures of “peoples” (i.e., my mother and I), backsides. Also, other extremely unflattering “poses” or not expecting flashes of captured light, framed in a humiliating stance for all of eternity or until I can dispose and destroy said photographic (too graphic for my prudishness and self-worth, body image conscious overload) evidence.
Living alone for so long and addition to a stressful job for so many years; can make a person, peculiar. My mother would say, “Gram made coffee nervous”. Childhood trauma, everybody has one. Didn’t drink alcohol, but cussed like, her terms; “a drunken’ sailor”. The bombs did burst in air, mainly because she was mostly deaf due to the airplanes launching and landing right in ear shot of her office for forty years, and sound travels; loudly.
Gram was an ace at everything and was highly trusted. She worked on many projects within projects, but more importantly and for the first time in my life, I am stating, a very famous government project initiated due to a crash (or 3), outside Roswell, New Mexico in 1947. She told me about the farmer and the ranch, and what he stated at the initial crash site, what was reported to the newspapers, and what was “re-stated” to the newspapers after “careful” “consideration”, later, and what she first-hand through dictation; reviewed, ascertained, translated, and transcribed.
From my recollection, there was, in fact, a crash from unknown origins (space), in Roswell, NM in July 1947. The small craft(s) and all remnants were retrieved by the U.S. military and taken to Wright Patterson Air Force Base. There was at least one biological entity or entities “discovered” and stated to be small in stature, large eyes (not like ours), and larger than proportionate, head. It was “human-like”, meaning, it had arms, and legs, and a centralized body. Besides, overly large eyes and head, there wasn’t a nose or much space for the nasal cavities, or any ears, but a small opening for a mouth. Oh, and it wasn’t green, … I asked!
That entity, (possibly entities), was autopsied, reports classified and never to be seen from again. Ironically, “white-out” was used to “black-out”, sensitive material in these ultra-classified, top-secret, “magic eyes only”, documented reports. I remember thinking, such a shame and travesty to covertly hide the truth or destroy evidence. The material of the alien subject craft consisted of nothing we had on this planet and clearly showed extraterrestrial in nature. Indefinable, unbreakable, bendable, or indestructible are these fragments of foreign objects, yet “light as a feather”.
I had a million questions, and she answered them as honest and forthright as she could. It was the “opinion” (gathered data from “top” “experts”) that the release of such an important event, such as an alien invasion, would cause sheer panic and chaos. A Halloween, radio broadcast, episode by Orson Wells (The War of the Worlds) in 1938, was literally the data used to justify the “cover-up” or omission of crucial, pertinent, information to the public; concluding that wide-spread pandemonium, mayhem, havoc, and complete bedlam would ensue. The world as we know it, would collapse and our economic structure would be devastated; the entire civilization would be impacted and the altering of our future, at hand.
Perhaps, Gram, surmised best; that the technology used by these entitles and “otherworldly” craft are far more advanced and far more superior than us, and if they wanted to do harm (annihilate), they could with minimal or any ramifications. She also stated that we were the hostile species, not the other way around. Concluded the lie, is never as bad as the “cover-up”. Here’s a famous quote from Sir Walter Scott’s play “Marmion”: “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.”
Our “best bet”, is to cooperate, acclimate, and learn what we can. The highest good would be for the highest use, and we can thank this moment in history for all our new gadgets and ease of accommodations in travel, communication, war tactics, and medical advances, criminal justice, science and mathematics, not to mention additional sacred, knowledge of the universe. She went on to explain, in depth, that there were countless reports and documentation about high-ranking officials and military personnel that had firsthand knowledge, experienced during flights, training simulations, and commercial flying airlines.
“Witnesses” that really didn’t want the stigma of paranoia, delusion, or mental illness casted upon them, following there every move, and chose to “keep quiet”, “lay-low”, and ultimately deny. It was a career ending move, to utter a word or murmur anything “foreign” for tensions among this world were already at an all-time high, “fever pitch”. If anything, it was simpler and more efficient to keep it a secret and hush, hush, not even a whisper. Deny, deny, deny; “denial isn’t just a river in Egypt”.
The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky. After everything, I asked, “do you believe in God?” Gram, replied, emphatically, “Yes!” That as infinite as God is; there’s infinite ways God “reaches” us. That the pieces to the puzzle, are massive in implications and theory, but are just that; a missing piece to our, collective, “puzzle”. She believed, “people”, were smarter than we looked, and that “we”, “lay people”, already knew the truth. That common sense outweighs itself in gold. The truth will prevail and with time, will prove her “right”.
They’ll learn much more than we’ll know. As time will tell, rumors, “talk”, conspiracies, and “proven scientific theory”, have compounded and confounded, and without doubt, definitely irrecoverably, convoluted the actual happenings of these extraordinary events and circumstances. The “truth” of the matter was, none of us “know” or were there; and even the people who were (farmer, farmers family, military, little media, and military personnel) at that time, couldn’t explain it or come close to factually stating, with any kind of authority, what that wreckage was exactly, or where it came from.
I see friends shaking hands Saying, “How do you do?” All is not lost! Although, seemingly, her work was confiscated, and destroyed; it lives on. We have Star Trek, Star Wars, and Marvel to reference, since much of that context was derived from Roswell and several, hidden, anonymous others. I believe, “the crash” and all its mysterious “contents”, were eventually taken to Area 51 (private well-known top-secret military facility) and reengineered, reconstructed, re-imagined, “refurbished”, and reapplied.
I also feel the “prime directive” was unveiled for the first time in histories, “recent” history. Verbatim, from my recall, and some carefully, pined-over omissions; all of what Gram told me that summer at Capitol Towers, has been validated, confirmed, and permanently implanted into my memory. Project Blue Book became “our” secret and on the sly, we continued our “secret project” and placed me unsure footed ablaze to find and discover what’s really beyond our universe. I had a partner for life that triumphed with me over each and every new piece of “evidence” pertaining to life “elsewhere”.
And I think to myself, If alien life forces are coming here, from above or subterraneanly, or biologically, or microscopically, and I believe they have since Earth began rotating (millions upon many a “blue moon” ago); they are either “studying” our unique life-forms, and/or, in search of obtaining precious minerals, fossil fuels, and chemical compounds, or “harvesting” in some fashion, or controlling various “elemental” matters, or hanging out in the Bahamas (wouldn’t you?).
Space traveling and the final frontier look to be on our horizon. Much thanks, full formal bows, and salutes: to all the men and women, who have tirelessly worked and sacrificed their entire lives in a quest for the “truth”. She would simply say, “God always finds a way.” Her “top-secret” status was her safeguarded sacred truth passed on to me. She was my confidante and the highest authority in my life. She is exalted in my eyes and will forever be my inspiration, and my guardian angel. I felt blessed and honored that she entrusted me with her story and the emotions I feel today, writing her supernatural existence, transcendental.
What a wonderful world (w)oohoorld and we can walk from here. Just a few blocks away and a small go between called, the “Ho Chi Man Trail” (told you, hearing impaired from birth), before I knew what or where the “Ho Chi Minh Trail” was. Through more trees, government and state buildings, cafe’s and deli’s, bookstores, law offices, banks, and busy streets, hang a left and you will come upon what appears to look like an alley, but it’s the steps leading up to the Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament. It is one of the largest Cathedrals, west of the great Mississippi and is a Roman Catholic (Mother) church.
We’ll quietly enter the church and ushered directly ahead is a detailed, engraved, and “infused” aspersorium. According to Wikipedia, “An aspersorium is the vessel which holds the holy water and into which the aspergillum is dipped, though elaborate Ottonian examples are known as situlae. Blessed salt may be added to the water where it is customary to do so.”
In most religions it is used and believed to ward off evil and thusly, we’ll dip our right two, middle-finger and ring finger, into the water. Then make the sign of the cross on your forehead, heart or naval next, then left to right shoulders to yourself or out loud, “Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit.” Amen
We’ll light a candle for our favorite Saints, and pray “they”, “watch-over” us and for our loved one’s health and wealth. “To thine, oneself, be true”. Saint Michael was Gram’s “favorite” Saint. Ironically and while contemplating how to end my “famous”, Gram’s, story; a lightning storm played boisterously all night long.
Imagine, the dome of the Cathedral peering into a moment; heaven imagined, physically, visually, spiritually, and dimensionally.
The choir sings angelic hymns, and the piano echoes through every statue, corner stone, pillar, pew, alter, stained glass, the angels, and God.
Somewhere over the Rainbow and Wonderful World, mixed with tears, was the last song I sang to her before she passed, ironically in June, and almost 100, which is what she always responded with, when asked her age. Her song to me, before bedtime was Goodnight Irene, Good night, Irene, I’ll see you in my dreams. I’m always dreamin’, so I “see” her all the time. Your dreams are so important and reminders of the constant pursuit of freedom, liberty, justice, and you guessed it, the pursuit of happiness. Take flight, and safe travels, and “Dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.” Godspeed!
*** This Concludes Somewhere Over The Rainbow … There’s a Wonderful World *** Added is a disclaimer, for anyone who needs one. This story is a fictional tale, based on real life people and places; meant for enjoyment purposes only. I hope you relate and find courage and wonderment in your own lives. Please come back and read more fantastical tales from beyond! *** God Bless & God Be With You ***