This was Annie, who sucked her thumb in secret for years in the cloak room of the Children’s Own School.
Annie, who befriended the ugliest wrecks of dolls, giving them fancy names and making them costumes so they could compete in her specially declared Doll Olympics in that steamy summer of ’88.
Annie, who, when her little brother came, was heartbroken briefly yes and seen crying in every video I took for the first three months of that new baby’s life. But Annie, who then devoted herself entirely to his care, abandoning her own room to sleep on the floor under the desk in his room.
To keep him company, she said.
Annie, who made all his fun.
Annie, who, come to think of it, made a whole lot of our fun , for all the lucky years when she lived in our house.
This is Annie above, making her nephew David’s fun one beautiful day last September, with just a box of crayons and her warmth.
And these are the iris, which bloom every year on her birthday.
Here’s to you Annie Payne, and to many returns of this day!