Banner photo: Me as Artist of the Month at Michael's Art Store. Lower painting is of Dancer's Daughter playing with a cat while sitting on a fence; oil on canvas; painting is in a private collection.

In the fall of 1987, my mother comes outside, and we talk. In the conversation she says, "You know Olan, the world doesn't owe you anything." Okay, she didn't talk to me about the facts of life in my youth, but she's making up for it now, and they want me out. Don't get me wrong, they are not kicking me out, they are just making corrective directives in my live. I was not preaching, I was not working in the factory, I realized I was sulking, and I made plans to socialize. The closest city to really socialize was south of us forty miles away, in the city where I live in now, Columbia. I look into a group called Parents without Partners (PWP). I was invited to an orientation meeting, and I went. There was my future wife, but I didn't even notice her or give her the time of day. Really, I didn't pay much attention to anyone, but I was just there. As I drive home, I had my first panic attack. They feel real, a concerning peculiarity, and I stop at the emergency room. I waited to see the doctor, and I tell him, I thought I was dying. Yes, they're that real, me, who had been near death thought he was really dying. I knew the man, but didn't recognize him at first. He said, "Olan, you're having a panic attack," but it's not the last one I would have. I will overcome them in time, with help from Mom. It was not generalized anxiety, but acute, episodic attacks. I had one when I walked into a building and the whole place seemed to collapse on me. I walked out of the building, heading for my car. I curled up and cowered. In about forty minutes I was able to sit upright and drive home.

I told Mom about my panic attacks and she said, "You never had these before you took this medication, you need to stop taking it."

I replied to her, ", but I can't just stop. I need to ask the doctor first."

"Nonsense, I will wean you off of it." Mom weans me off the medication, and I left my acute anxiety attacks behind. I had some, but nothing disabling, and it was medication for the most part. I returned to PWP meetings, where the book groups are the most fun, and my future wife was again there, and again I didn't notice her, but she noticed me. The leader of the book review invited me to go to the bar for an after party, but I was hesitant. You'll need to understand me at that point. I'd never been to a bar, but I went and had a great time. The winter of 1988 I went to another PWP group and we were celebrating the Winter Olympics. finally I was adjusting to socializing, and I had a great time and enjoy every moment, and I was invited to another home book review meeting, but first I'd need to appear in court for the divorce.

On my way to the county where the divorce was to be held, I stopped to eat at a fast food place that actually had waiters, cool, I thought. The waitress flirted with me, mostly for a tip. I'm sure, but she was nice and made me feel that at thirty-five I still had it, whatever it was. I was fitting back in, but I was still not employed, and now I have child support to pay, and until I get a job I will be a dead beat dad. At the nighttime PWP book review meeting the house was packed and a woman hit on me; not the woman who will become my wife, but the dancer was good looking and looked like a blond Elizabeth Taylor. She saw me as a new lover and dance partner. Yep, here we go again. She molds me into what she wants, I was Metamorphosis, a play doll women dress up, and turn into anything they want, and I was her sex toy, the latter I didn't mind, she never slowed down; four hours of dance practice and four more of dancing every night, and then we come home to hours of sex, and more sex the first moment we awoke, every day of the week. This went on for a full year, and we slowed down only because I worked out of town. I was young, but geez, I was going to burnout before I reached my fortieth birthday. The woman who first saw me at PWP had made a move on me, and this time I noticed her. She grabbed my ass on the way out; after dancing, the Dancer didn't notice. I swung around, and looked into her eyes. She's pretty and she dances, and later I sought her out; she'd laid her trap.

I was preaching again, and I got a break from Dancer, but we are at the end of our love affair. I had a full time job for the interim. The church was troubled, and had a near split. I was here to heal them. (This was when I run into the hauntings, the true event of my short-short stories. I was getting paid a full time salary, and they rented me a bungalow on the lake. My mission was to repair the hurt and move on, making a smooth transition for the new minister, a job I did well. I was over my hurt, and I started to pay my child support, but not in full, and that needed to wait until I got a better job. The first job I had to do was bury an old man who shot himself. It was hard, and I preformed several funerals in the next six months. I had an office, and I was starting a nighttime adult education class in another town over seventy-five miles to the west of the church's town. I placed an ad in the local newspaper there to teach portrait painting, but I wanted experienced painters. I figure I couldn't teach novices and portrait painting at the same time, it wouldn't be fair to the other students, I put my work phone in the ad. I was busy writing my sermon at the church when I got a call from this man. He wanted me to take his wife for the portrait class, but she had no experience in painting. I said politely no, and hang up. The next night he called again; he pleaded with me to allow her in my class. I agree, and I thought if she could make her husband plead for her, this was a woman I wanted to meet.

Photo: This is a photo of two of the paintings I had on sale at Michaels, oils on canvas.