Notes- frothy mix/characters for sc. 14/Scene 14 of Chapter Six

        You awoke this morning wondering how many levels the human mind may have, and first, how are the levels defined.

         It appears to me, to begin, that the conscious level has several levels in itself. Pre-planning, planning, deliberating, action, follow-through open for deliberation and following action. All of these can be enacted in quick mind-moments of split seconds on a mind-image board. Meanwhile, the unconscious mind can be running a multitude of different levels based on memory, supposed memory, outright fantasy, plus a mix of Freudian ego, superego, and id. A frothy brew allowed or not allowed to bubble up into consciousness at any given time. This is how I see my mind at work, at least on the outset. Studies on Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” come to mind – redemption for killing the albatross, but continued self-punishment – by telling the tale to one in three so that some continual good may come from it. Perhaps also the ‘reasoning’ by which Shakespeare was driven to write – a mix of outward personality in the elements and inward froth.

         You are building a soapbox, orndorff. – Amorella.

         Well then, that is that. I have no reason to stand on it.

         Good. Post. – Amorella.

         Late morning.  You are sitting on the Tylersville Kroger’s lot while Carol is picking up sauerkraut (among other things) for tomorrow. Old family tradition on both sides, eat pork and sauerkraut on New Year’s Day and you’ll have enough money to survive the year well.

         I assume it is a German custom. I’ll have to look it up when I have wireless. We are as mutts in the real world. Our genealogy may go back to King Duncan II of Scotland and Scottish DNA of much earlier but there is German, French, Basque, Italian and a number of Poles and Slavs (with trace of Central Asian DNA of 30,000 years ago through great, great Grandma Hubbell to Gov. Thom. Wells [1590-1659]of CT) in the mix too. It will be interesting when DNA can better trace percentages, let’s say, of family DNA wealth. That would be “cool beans” as sister Cathy used to say. Genetic definition I’m sure would be more accurate than most genealogies. Grandson Owen, for instance is Korean/(Chinese) by half and the other half the mixtures above. Makes him rather around-the-world in his nature and he hasn’t even had to travel yet. Such is the genetic order of many in our human species. 

        Back home. Online it is said that pork and sauerkraut is a tradition many Ohioans picked up from the Pennsylvania Dutch who settled in the region. Said it brought good luck. The Ohioans I knew and know say it brings money. One of those silly myths that people in this part of the Midwest like to adhere to. The human spirit enjoys a bit of superstition, that’s true everywhere, well, most everywhere.

         Make that everywhere, orndorff. People who say they are not superstitious need to look more closely in the mirror inside their heads. – That’s the way it is in these books in any case. Post. – Amorella.

         Early afternoon. You are sitting in the outer rim of Macy’s Kenwood south lot waiting for Carol’s call to come get her at the south door. A beautifully warm December day and the multitudes are shopping.

         You have spent time further editing and putting the mattress scenes in order and are ready to attach them to the rest of the earlier chapter six scenes.

         Attached. Now you have a short scene fourteen. This will be a strategy meeting with those figures connected with ‘the’ Supervisor: [character material helps from your basic outline immediately below]

Zeus has three other lesser Betweeners to do his bidding in beside, me, the Supervisor who the humans think of as Hades, the brother of Zeus and Poseidon. One of the differences between me and Hades is that I do not have a wife named Persephone. I, the Supervisor, am known to the Greek Dead as Hades the older brother of Zeus and Hera. I am the most invisible, ironically among both the Dead and the Living The Dead don’t know any better anyway. They can speak fluent ancient Greek though, so they are an educated lot. [A Oneness of Daniel Craig/Catherine Zeta-Jones and Dimensions Beyond] = the Supervisor / Hades

The highest of this group of three is Athena who sprang fully grown from the head of Zeus. Athena is the greatest of Warrior Guardians. She blows the final trumpet of Judgment through the Dead at the conclusion of book five. [Sigourney Weaver] = Michael

The second of the three is Apollo, a son of Zeus. Apollo’s powerful mark is Prophecy which at times is uttered as poetic vision though when he speaks a truth to human beings he is sometimes terribly misunderstood or mistranslated through human desires and self-deception, in particular, wishful thinking. [Brad Pitt] = Gabriel

The third Betweener is the twin of Apollo, Artemis who in these stories remains a stealthy huntress of the good and just as well a great healer of the human psyche. While Artemis is in the Place of the Dead she appears to have four directional faces so she never lifts her gaze from her Father, Zeus. She is the great Balancer forever looking inward towards the eyes of Zeus and outward towards humanity, both the Dead and the Living. [Angelina Jolie] = Raphael

***

       Post this. Then tonight we will finish this scene fourteen and post it. Tomorrow we will only post the completed Chapter Six and that will be that. – Amorella.


       Why the mix of the Greek Pantheon and the Judeo-Christian-Moslem traditional angelic hierarchies?

       To convey a conceptual spiritual sense from ancient Greek times to present times. Other religious cultures also have angelic-like figures. The reader can substitute appropriate figures. As you are the writer I am using your culture for your personal authenticity. If the author were Asian or from India or any other culture, substitute names would be used. Do you have a problem with this, boy? - Amorella

         No. I understand.

         You can put your name to this work?

         I can and will. 

        You have completed scene fourteen and have less than an hour to go before the New Year in your part of the world. You think the scene is a bit harsh, but it serves a greater purpose as it concludes the first half of book six.

Scene 14

         The Supervisor speaking here, 

“This short scene focuses on how-things-work in the realm of reasonable metaphysics,”   As with the Greeks in those days, the modern reader is educated also. The melding of science and philosophy is the dual track these books run on. In those ancient Greek days people more easily understood the Gods of the Pantheon because they were presented anthropomorphically; they were presented in human form performing human-like functions in a godly manner. This principle is well understood today and is still in accepted use. For instance, on the ceiling the of Sistine Chapel God’s hand is outstretched to the hand of Adam. In an updated manner, this device is used here to facilitate a greater understanding of how things work in this fourth and fifth books of the Merlyn’s Mind series.

         Picture if you will, a human-like hand of Betweeners, a fully functioning hand (female or male). The index finger (right or left hand) represents me, the Supervisor or Zeus. I point things out, I enlighten. The middle finger represents Athena to the ancient Greeks, but in the modern culture of the writer, the one whose name appears as legal author, the agnostic, has a basic background that is Judeo-Christian-Moslem. For the sake of understanding a particular spiritual level, these characters are angelic-like in their nature. Thus, the middle finger, who is as Athena is as Michael in modern times. If your spiritual or, if you will, have mythological tendencies that lean to another religion with angelic-like creatures, then substitute a more familiar angelic name. Make up your own if you wish.

         Continuing, the ring finger in ancient Greek would be Apollo, a son of Zeus, a speaker of truth. The modern counterpart in this series is Gabriel. The little finger, is Apollo’s twin, Artemis, who forever looks through the eyes of Zeus into humanity, both the Dead and the Living. Her modern counterpart is Raphael. These are four of the five digits or extensions of the Hand. Betweeners, who also compose the space between the fingers.

         The opposing thumb in this anthropomorphic exercise is Beyond, and is an invisible personification of Necessity not Will. In this particular scene no dialogue need be expressed in their closed conference. This simple raised fist will do. Thus pictured, one can understanding of how things are among the Supervisor and his accompanying business associates.

***

Notes - last mattress redrafted & an afterthought

         A bit of excitement for Carol this morning in that she was up and awake when the three mile deep 3.8 earthquake hit at seven-fifty-five this morning one hundred and eleven miles away from your Mason address. Stats are according to your iPad app, Earthquake Lite, from the US Geological Survey National Earthquake Information Service at Golden, Colorado. The app asked you to send in a survey detailing her reaction to the quake, which you did.

         It was an interesting questionnaire, quite detailed. There was no structural damage but Carol felt the house move for a few seconds. I slept right through it.

         Mid-afternoon. You traveled thirty miles to your eye doctor as he had moved to the west side of Cincinnati, a place you rarely, if ever, visit.

         I traveled from I-74 up Montana Avenue to eventually find Glenway Avenue where his office is. He used to be connected with LensCrafter’s now he is with Eye World. It is only once a year, and my eyes are still in good shape, so it was worth the ride.

         Why don’t you re-draft the last example you found and place it here so we can get through this scene?

         I was rather hoping four examples would be enough but I did find the fifth, and after checking the word totals for the chapters I suppose I will need it. It is just so all very physical and I am not so good with description.

         A little heads and tails never appears to hurt anyone, orndorff. Besides, realism is where the human spirit dwells.

         I’m sorry, Amorella, but somewhere deep inside I still think of you as the closest thing to an angel I’ll ever deal with, and though a 69 positioning is rather well known, I have trouble with it because I was a teacher once, writing about such things would not be accepted by many of the parents of my students. I wouldn’t accept it of a public school teacher now if my daughter were young and in his class. Like ministers, teachers cannot afford to dwell in such fabrications of society. And, though I am retired, the old ways and concepts and ideals are still floating about in my head.

         This shows how strongly you have been influenced by the culture in reference to teacher behavior, old man. Think about this in terms of what others have to deal with in their own cultures. Surviving death may be liberating for some, but others may take a long time to decipher what is who they are, as compared with what their culture wanted them to be. In here, the cultures of the Dead have their own rules and most are loosely interpreted.

         I don’t think I like that so much.

         I don’t care if you do or not, orndorff. Rules are rules, and the fewer there are, the better. – Amorella.

         Speed limits exist.

         That’s what passing lanes are for. Post. – Amorella.

         It is after twenty-one hundred hours and you have completed this last selection to be inserted tomorrow and we will complete this scene thirteen and chapter six. Here is the last of the encounters in second draft.

draft two of selection of scene thirteen

         Salamon whispers with wishful anticipation, “Shall we circle?”

         Sophia nibbles a bite of ear, and erotically orders, “Work up from between my toes with a bridging tongue and I will shimmer as the mighty Styx.”

Mattress on the floor late evening. Sophia suddenly discovered that she was more conscious of Salamon’s right hand, thumb and fingers spread across the back of her right hip than his unconsciously moving tongue stroking her snuggle warm, semi-erected passion. His right hand is solid. His other hand rests, comforting my outer thigh just above my left knee. Salamon tempts sucking something not fully between and here. A small fleshy flint. Does he remember the taste of feminine moisture on his nose? What is the male enchantment? The born man-child comes head first, is it his plan of subterfuge, to worm his way back in? I give him the two things he wants in the moment. A metaphor. Sharing what I don’t have with what he doesn’t have. As in life, it is the thought of giving the most of one’s private self.

         I sniff too, thinks Sophia, and I lick a taste of memory. I remember the sharpness of watching a man beside himself. Automaticity. I can flatten a man much as a runaway oxen can. I can run him down with lip and tongue. Within arching bodies, in little more than are not breathing, we are what we are, a sharing, naked with the only utilities we have to share, our senses. Salamon’s thoughts and feelings are consciously drowned in this reflexive moment. He is not even here. I am that good, I am as solid as my clasping right hand.

***

         You see, orndorff, you can break your own rules for the books. This is not the first time.

         No. I trust this does no harm, nor the books either. For thinking only, for the few who feel the need to read them. To broaden perspective, to broaden the mind as to what we are and what we can be. Just a few opened windows for myself to peer into. Others can peer into themselves and find similarities, that is my hope. I am my own classroom at this stage of life. I have doubts on surviving death, but if I do I will have something for my mind to hold onto. An anchor of reason in a pending storm. I will be able to say, “I thought it out from within, so this is truly what I am, alive or dead.” My view as a transcendental existentialist.

         I agree, old man. It is from your depths of heartansoulanmind, not my own. – Amorella. 


         A selection of mental nakedness hanging on a line as a clean set of sheets. It is amazing, I can let this go. - rho

Notes -- The King's Speech & the human spirit

            Mary Lou is arriving within the half hour and you three are going to an early showing of “The King’s Speech” at the nearby Regal off Mason-Montgomery Road then lunch after. House is cleaned and it is a bright morning with a medium blue sky. The snow is slowly melting.

You are sitting in the Cracker Barrel lot waiting on Carol and Mary Lou who are shopping after eating. . . . Home. Make the eye exam appointment first. The cat is sitting on your chest and right arm while you type.

I enjoy her warmth and purring. Very relaxing. Jadah and I have a good symbiotic relationship.

After twenty hundred hours. A long nap after shoveling snow off the decks and taking in five green plastic Adirondack lawn chairs for Winter. Homemade vegetable soup for supper, the national news, and last Monday’s “Closer”. Carol is presently watching a new “The Good Wife” she has not seen.

Earlier today we saw “The King’s Speech” with Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush, Helena Bonham Carter and Derek Jacobi. The main focus is on King George VI of England and his Australian speech therapist, Lionel Logue. The setting, the mid 1930’s and the beginning of the war with Germany. Superb acting by one and all. A wonderful, beautifully directed period piece over a part of history very important to me. My first paper in Mrs. L. Gossett’s senior British literature high school class was “The Battle of Britain”. I remember the many Edward R. Murrow’s “Hear It Now” series on records during the 1950’s. As Churchill was/is one of my great personal heroes so were all the British citizens involved in protecting England during the German attempt to destroy what you consider to be the best of your cultural heritage – the English and her language.

So many wonderful books and films focused on that period. I had to hold back the tears as King George was giving his speech at the conclusion of the film. Such a determined character, a leader with a speech impediment and a prime minister who had conquered a speech impediment of his own against one of the greatest of modern media speech deliverers, Adolf Hitler. The film deserves many awards. But to me, it is the human spirit that is delivered in the acted voices and body language of Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush that carries the day – it is the human spirit that makes us who we are. I love that aspect of our species more than any other and it is wonderfully presented in this film.

Let it linger in your head tonight, orndorff. Tomorrow is another day for writing. Post. - Amorella.  

Notes - Two partial selections of scene 13 drafted

            Mid-morning. Reviewed the newspapers since last Friday and read today’s. Eye appointment time but they are closed today. Tomorrow either you are going up to Mary Lou’s or she is coming down here. A movie is planned, you hope it is “The King’s Speech” as it just arrived in Cincinnati last Saturday.

         If I didn’t hear King George 'BBC live' (I think I did) then I heard him on a recording in my youth. I like period films as does Carol, plus it has very good reviews as well as excellent actors.

         Mid-afternoon. On the way home from a grocery errand you thought . . . .

         True. I thought something about the books other than working on this scene thirteen and getting it done before the year is out. I did. But I don’t remember – drawing a complete blank.

         You recovered your mind enough to re-draft another ‘incident’ between Sophia and Salamon. Here it is:

A Scene 13 selection - redrafted

        Salamon fell asleep semi-solid still chuckling . . . as he awoke Sophia stirred and mumbled, “Why am I not exhausted? I wake up and feel refreshed then the old storm in the back of my head rises and I wonder what this being Dead is all about.” She added, “I wonder about this rebellion.” Are the gods behind this, she thought, then quickly concluded as usual, there are no gods. We are here just like we were alive. We have no control over either circumstance. What we are makes us who we are first.

         He formed a seriousness in her words on the rebellion and commented, “The bridge is a form of justice. We are building it by our own design. All of the Dead can walk upon it and we will take it as far out onto the River Styx as this nature will allow us.”

         She asked stubbornly, “Who is this Supervisor who is supposedly constantly observing and controlling this nature we survive in?”

         Salamon stretched then casually placed his hands behind his gathered mind-in-his-head. Sophia gave him a look and threw a blanket over his nakedness below.

         He smirked, “Why’d you do that?”

         She smiled politely and replied, “To warm you up.”

         He closed his eyes, sighed, and suddenly felt surprisingly alive. With those self-directed feelings to slow to light nerves Salamon  resurrected below the navel and in the immediacy forgot Sophia’s question.

         Mattress on the floor in the evening. Salamon is lying with his back arched at thirty degrees leaning on his right elbow and forearm, his legs are stretched mostly together and flat out with his  tensioned  toes slightly spread. He considers the self-generating thought: ‘if we were real’.

His left arm and hand lean straightforward with his large-knuckled long fingers spread fan-like across the full of Sophia’s lower belly enwrapped in a fantasy designed for gently lifting her soul into his own. Salamon’s thumb is calmly threaded teasingly between her semi-swollen outer lips onto the tip of Sophia’s cozy Gibraltar-shaped passion. A mirage of flowing life energy settled on the spiritual union but that was not to be.

Pressure-parted, Sophia senses a memory of sexual energy wanting to disperse in gentle shivering shocks and quakes above Salamon’s slowly methodical push-and-pulling. To become whole and full bodied is her desire more than the sex itself. To feel auto-stimulated is to become shaman-like, sparked and inner tingling with a wild-minded woman’s intensity of the here and now. Oh, and oh, again.

          Meanwhile her softly curved bottom rests on the top of his thighs so she might lightly brush the movement of his well placed cullions. Sophia anchored her raised back with her outstretched arms with palms mattress flat with legs spread, her left ankle touching the back of his partially raised right hand while her right foot with heel raised is well toed for support and pointed away from his narrowed waist. Oh.

Sophia’s neck and head arch forward for a centered peek of male viewing further south between taut breasts swelled. She thinks, I am up here, she thinks and down there too. Two places at once, such as it is, oh, making love and being Dead both at once – oh, oh my.

***

        

Methinks it may be too much, but that’s how it is for now.

I don’t have a problem with it, orndorff. At least you didn’t have either one of them exclaiming, “Oh, my God!”

Coming from you that's funny, Amorella.

           Post, and later today we’ll get a bit further so we might finish this up by the new year. – Amorella.


         After twenty hours and you have completed another selected draft. You are also wondering if this may be enough. Add it here and tomorrow we’ll put it together as one whole unit to see how it looks.

Selection of Scene 13 redrafted

          What are we doing here? I have too much to do, thought Sophia. Too much Mother, too much me. She glanced down at the deeply sleeping stone crusted Salamon. She wondered, what is this all about, Salamon? How long is this relationship going to last?

         Such a question. Sophia looked up into the dark sky and grumbled, “Forever sunless. Whenever will we see the light?”

         She probed Salamon’s cold left arm thinking – marble. I am here making cryptal love with marble. Transformation with a fingertip’s touch. De-stoning, Salamon said, “You’re awake?”

         Sophia grinned, “And, now you are too.”

         “I should be tired.”

         “You were,” she replied, “stone cold.”

         He quickly reflected, “Every new day is a resurrection.”

         She quipped, “It’s not yet morning.”

         “Another go?” smilingly slipped out.

         You are kidding, thought Sophia. What would be the purpose? Where is the meaning with matters overdone?

         Grinning, Salamon reached and gently pulled her down. “We can cuddle.”

         She teased, “You need to get warm.” On their chosen sides, rotisserie-like, the two easily lay arm in arm and feet contentedly caressing. Sophia whispered matter of factly, ‘We two warm the heavens.’

Mattress on the floor, late. Salamon lay flat and rested on his back. Sophia stood naked above him.

         Sophia inched slowly down. To coordinate Salamon rose into a sitting position with as much anticipation as he could muster. Shortly, he pleasantly found her sitting on the focus of much of his warm semi-solid anticipation. With the fingers of her right hand she spread her much exercised lips and nudged him into place. Then she sat tall with her back parallel to his. Her taut breasts front and center to his neck Salamon quickly found himself bending his mouth instinctively forward to a potential taste of awaiting spiritual nourishment. Lips and tongue, a twist of pleasure mutually felt. He did not notice her more experienced eyes were observing contently above his own.

         I feel him within and without. Who is changed more in this parallel frontal positioning? The flesh, the thought of flesh keeps his mind busy on the essentials of fingertips as his right hand appears fresh with a single finger heading towards my bottom just far enough for me to tingle of playful entrance. Erection or finger, I don’t know which counts more in my present, private bottomful of two-way joy.

         Contentment is staying this prayful way until morning. Heaven is in the one of being.

***

          Post. – Amorella. 

Notes- Close call & a Call for a twisted ending to book six

         Paul is home and Owen is in Day Care. You are heading out to breakfast at the Inn on Coventry.  . . .  You were dropped off while the others went shopping. You are feeling lucky as you almost lost four fingers of your right hand when you did not notice the back car door was open and ready to be shut when you were pulling yourself out of the front seat of the CR-V.

         Strange, I could almost feel the fingers gone when I pulled my hand away – they were no more than a second from being crushed. I did have the ring finger of my right hand crushed once while I was carrying groceries to a customer at Hamilton’s Grocery on the old south end of Westerville near the railroad tracks. I unthinkingly slammed the door on it myself. Even today the tip of that finger is a quarter inch wider than the ring finger of my left hand. When I lost weight I was able to take my wedding ring off and never put it back on because I never got it resized. Carol took hers off too. Ever since, for some reason, we have gotten along better, more compatible, but that happened just before she retired in ’04. We are even more compatible today – like when we first were married.

No stress of school teaching, no job stress. I think it was the tiredness of  attempting to be at your best for your students and fellow colleagues during the day. Politeness ruled the classroom behavior and you had to continually attempt to set the best example. That’s how I remember it. The older you grew the harder it was. The last ten years I would come home and nap for an hour to an hour and a half and go to bed between eight-thirty and nine and get up at five of five every school morning. Ten years before that I would nap maybe twenty to thirty minutes once home from school. As long as I can remember, bed at nine during the week and up by five. People who say teaching is easy have never taught. I loved it nevertheless.

Time for a break here, orndorff. Post. – Amorella.

You were home before twenty-hours and twenty minutes. No problems, a couple of stops, once for fuel. Unpacked and not ready for bed. Carol is on the phone with sister, Mary Lou after talking with Kim.

I’ve been thinking about the marsupial Holy Day without religion and politics. One would think that eventually Diplomat Burrows would come up with something, in fiction six, that would bend the rules of both cultures as she is a hybrid of Earth and ThreePlanets on the other side of the Galaxy . . . something that would be a positive reflection on both world civilizations. No one has ever come up with something better but faery tale Utopias or parodies of Utopias. That’s not like Diplomat. She is a what you see is what you get character. What comes to mind is the rules of the road throughout the world. Safe and practical sense as the tone of ‘something conditional that most everyone on the two planetary systems could live with. People say such a thing is impossible, but that’s what Diplomat is, impossible (or almost so). It would be a fun attempt for later, that is, if you could help me out Amorella.

You want the near impossible from me, Amorella, who you consider near impossible.

It seems reasonable, at least in a fiction. I like my readers to think so I want something that will allow them to think further as long as it fits within the guidelines of the books.

Then what about the Dead, particularly the combination of the human Dead as well as the marsupial Dead?

That is good, especially since the human Dead appear to ‘live’ without politics as usual. Their religion is rather loosely defined to in  that some don’t believe in the Greek Pantheon and others do. No observation of Holy wars so far in the books.

Nor will you see any, boy. – Amorella.

Well, it is a rather outlandish idea, but then so are the books as far as I am concerned. Something neither above nor below politics or religion as usual, something parallel to both, so pride in both cultures can still exist, pride without arrogance, if that is possible. Red, green, and yellow are colors that people observe simple rules for and politics and religion don’t seem to be a part of the culture of the road. Anyway, it is a thought so I wrote it down.

No promises, orndorff. – Amorella.

That’s all right. I am probably venting.

Post. We’ll put it on the back burner, so to speak. – Amorella.

Hope is not involved here, Amorella. I don’t care that much, they are just books. It would be funny though if things could be twisted around to the point that readers might say, “Is he kidding me? Is he twisting my mind into a near impossible position?”

Now, that is more like it, dark, dark humor, your favorite. Just like ‘messing with your students’ minds over the years’.

Yes, that will do, Amorella. That would be fun, I love messing with peoples’ minds – but for the cause of evoking thought and freedom of thought.

Enough for tonight, orndorff. We can probably come up with something.  Post. – Amorella.

Sounds good, Amorella. I am thinking of the conclusion of the story I cannot remember the title to, nor the author. Aggghh. Flying saucer lands in Washington – 1954, I think.  What is it? . . . . . The Day the Earth Stood Still. Not the film the story the film was based on. I know this and cannot remember. . . .  Love Google: “Farewell to the Master”  a 1940 story by Harry Bates.

Not everyone would see the humor, orndorff.

I don’t care. I think it is a great line. I love it. What a twist.

A little too dark, old man. Let it go for now. Get a good night’s sleep. – Amorella.

Notes -The Holiday

         A socially busy two days. Yesterday, iced rolls and bacon for breakfast, the opening of presents, babysitting in afternoon while Kim and Paul took in their second movie since Owen, delicious  dinner of ham, rice, peas, dressing, apricots, spinach salad and chocolate pudding pie and Grandma Schick’s famous toll house cookies sandwiching vanilla ice cream – most all holiday homemade.

         Kim went to bed nearly the same time as Owen, early. You and Carol have been discussing the possible futures of the media on the Internet, mainly as to who will control what. Your assumptions are that iTunes is only the beginning for Apple and other content formats – Google for example, and others will come about also. The new CNBC and Flipboard apps are examples as well as the BBC app no need for the NY Times or other like ‘old format’ news.

New Mac App Store from Apple in January, apps for those like myself with Snow Leopard, OS 10.6.5. Digital Radio apps are my favorite. I am presently listening to Classic FM on my iPad which was my favorite radio station when in London. I love it. Reminds me of the classical radio station Mother and I listened to daily when I was the ages of three through five growing up. I am regressing I suppose but I find the music wonderfully soothing. There is a world revolution in communication going on daily. I love it, and I hope it changes the world for the better in the process.

You forget what you were going to focus on before the discussion. Carol just informed you that you will probably be heading home tomorrow afternoon rather than Tuesday so Kim, Paul and Owen can have some time together.

You were surprised, in earlier conversations today, to find that although you were born 6 August 1942 you were not allowed to leave the hospital until you reached five pounds which did not happen until sometime in November. Aunt Ruthie, your mother’s sister, was thirteen when you were born and she said you looked the size of a squirrel while in the hospital and when you came home you spent the next three months in a basket at your Grandparent Schick’s at 104 East College in Westerville. You had never been told that before by Aunt Ruthie or anyone else – except your father said you looked like a small skinned rabbit when born.

That was so long ago, but obviously it was memorable to those who were conscious of it.  No wonder I may have remembered being in an incubator under hypnosis, I thought I was in one for a month not four. No wonder my brain ‘flickers’ sometimes. A real early childhood education in a glass box with tubes attached and outside real world 'otherworldly' eyes and gloved fingers holding and/or probing. Ha!

         You think this blog is too much on your self identity, but the focus is on perspective and points of view within the books. Post. Amorella.

Notes - Morning Dream & First Interpretation

         After noon. Carol woke you up at twelve-forty. A long four hour nap.

         Quite surprised. It was a light, dream-like sleep. Lots of strange dreams along the way. The setting I remember was Uptown Westerville. I moved under the ground from the corner of West Park and Knox Streets (where Uncle Ernie and Aunt Patsy live) up to the back parking lot, within the back door of one of the central building facing the west side of State Street. I kept wondering where the tunnel was as it is about a two city block sidewalk distance. I took this 'tunnel' twice, the last time I walked around from the back of where the old Westerville Citizen’s Bank was situated onto West College and up to State Street. I kept wondering where Uncle Ernie was and why he didn’t tell me about this secret passage Uptown from their house. The two block distance took one step and it was confusing to me how this was possible. I did run into Uncle Ernie once, above ground, at the corner of West College and Grove Streets, right in front of Otterbein University’s Tower’s Hall, another building in the style of Emerson School on Vine Street.

         Here is my take, orndorff. The threads are the Ernsberger House near the corner of Park and Knox, the Underground non-tunnel to the back door of The Citizen’s Bank, West College at State, west to Otterbein campus’ Tower’s Hall and finally, the Emerson Junior High School architectural connection. – Amorella.

         The Underground non-tunnel reminded me of the tunnels of the Dead beneath the Otterbein College Cemetery which is connected by both Knox and Grove Streets. The ‘tunnels’ were how the Dead moved from one spot in the cemetery to another, to visit I suppose. This is a flash from being five and six and wondering about those tunnels I dreamed at the Grandparents Orndorff on the corner of Knox and West Walnut Streets, even in those days. It is like the dream is an expansion of the cemetery setting to old Uptown, that the Dead could move from the cemetery to old Uptown whenever they wished. I have had dreams like this before, back in the eighties, a reoccurring dream was that one of the Dead attached himself to my shoulders and as I took him for a walk from the cemetery to Uptown and back so he could see the modern Uptown. I felt him as I walked, like carrying an empty knapsack. Friendly and curious little guy. He jumped off once I returned the spirit to the cemetery. He took three or four separate rides during that decade. Always on in the cemetery and off on the return trip. The pick up station was the crossroad about thirty yards in front of the mausoleum. Wow. I haven’t thought about that in some time. So, maybe, in my dreams I think of Uptown Westerville as haunted.

         Or, rather, that you are haunted by Uptown Westerville. - Amorella.

         Why would that be? And, if so, it is a friendly haunting, a friendly connection. Just like the cemetery is a friendly haunting. In my mind the dreams are all ‘matter of fact,’ nothing frightening.

         You have been at this for about an hour. Time for lunch and socializing, orndorff. Post. – Amorella.