An End to Loose Ends?

[All good things must come to an end, but I am working on a sequel, tentatively called Gravediggers Anonymous for the fall]

Last Thoughts. An End to Loose Ends?

I’ve always appreciated books and movies that purport to tell of real events and then conclude with how the people involved fared. That being said, I have for you the following report:

Kluzky defeated Spaccone by a ridiculously large margin. Kluzky then went to the State Legislature and promptly voted against equal pay for women. He claimed there were other bills, particularly his own bill offering tax-free zones for businesses, which needed more immediate attention. His office has been picketed every day the Legislature does not meet. Sadly, however, those are the days Kluzky elects not to show up at his office or any public meetings. Spaccone has offered to conduct the meetings for him, but I gather they have not agreed on that, or anything else, if the News Buddies and newspapers are to be believed.

The church ladies were examined by psychiatrists before appearing in court. Words like “senility” or “dementia” and, in one lesser-known psychiatrist’s opinion, “mass hypnosis” bounced around the news media and assorted gossips chains for weeks. The court officials must have looked into Beth and Naomi’s faces, thought of their own slightly batty grandmothers and adopted an attitude of pity. The women were all given fines to pay for the damages and community service. Most were assigned to clean up the mess they had made on campus.

The synod governing Faithful Servants Church fired the Reverend Whathisname. The announcement in the newspapers explained that the synod elders felt he had given the Women’s Auxiliary too much freedom. The women were encouraged, the report said, to get beyond themselves and their natural roles as nurturers and homemakers. The synod recommended the Auxiliary be disbanded until such time as their women repented their audacity and resumed their rightful (read ‘lower’)spiritual status in the congregation.

The news buddies dropped the “Mothers in Pearls” story and commentary after the sentencing. The old fart, who supported the Mothers’ agenda up to and including the day after the riot, came out after the trial to denounce them in strong terms and filled a two-minute spot with his outrage that none of the women would see jail time. Ugly old hags and young viragos on the rag, he called them (I’ve cleaned up his language), as well as declaring them a danger to the American way of life. Myself, I agree with the younger, female News Buddies (even the brunette with the smoked eyelids): the old fart and his antediluvian attitudes and gutter language are a bigger danger to the American way of life. But what do I know? I’m simply a unmarried woman and a Jew to boot. Chances are the alter kakhers like the old fart and Kluzky will pay attention to my “sort” about the time Derek decides he can slum on my blood without much harm.

David may have passed on. The Potter’s Field has lain quiet for several months now. The extension towards the north is about one-third full, but, as the winter sets in early here, I expect we will see half before the new year. Doorways are never as warm in an October Syracuse snowstorm as they may be in the full blaze of summer.

Ambr’ has not been missed, that I can tell. Oh, I suppose, if they have such feelings, the rodent mothers miss their children who feed her, but the rest of the “family,” including Derek seem to be getting along fine without her.

And, before you ask, yes, Charlie is still with me. He lies beside me every night until I am asleep and then slips downstairs to organize my desk or the kitchen or Grandma Rose’s kitchen cabinets or drawers or whatever is making him crazy. Which is almost everything in my house, including me. Call me stubborn, but I have a problem getting fashion advice from the undead. Not even if Missy and Mischa concur, which they do when they are not flirting with him.

I don’t know where Charlie feeds or on whom. He doesn’t tell me, and I don’t ask. I’ve even stopped reading the newspaper accounts of unexplained deaths from bleeding out all around the Syracuse area. Full disclosure has its limits. No, I do not know what the future holds for us. “Normal” relationship rules or patterns do not apply.

And I still do not know from experience if vampires have sex with the living. There is still a blanket between Charlie and me at night.

I have hope, but I am still waiting.

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