Up daily chores, breakfast and the Sunday paper, particularly the comics (almost always read first). Not mid-morning as of yet and another seemingly dreary Ohio March morning best exemplified by the mostly sleeping cat curled on a seat pad on top of her carrier. She is showing some accomplishment of purpose.
Mid-afternoon. You and Carol just finished watching the one and half hour, “The Blitz” on PBS, the focus was 29 December 1940. The last time you were in London, you, Carol, Craig and Alta walked those very streets surrounding St. Paul’s. You don’t know the words to articulate, but you feel some sort of symbiosis to St. Paul’s on surviving that night.
St. Paul’s was an interesting historical visit but I did and/or do not have an inner imaginative magnified connection with it as I feel I do with Canterbury and Westminster. Symbiosis seems a bit too strong a word here. If anything symbiosis would appear to better fit the connection between you, Amorella, and myself, but that is not true either. Strange to me how this is. When I think about it (now this is weird) – the ‘feeling’ I have, this ‘attachment’ of sort, is with the Dead, with those who died in the blitz. This ‘feels’ right, but morally I feel one of the ancient sins coats this ‘right’ (honest) feeling. It is more likely caused by imagination, sympathy and empathy – a need to see human dignity in such events. This is a rather silly idea, I suppose, but it popped up for the consideration I gave it.
The topic was also your first writing assignment, your first formal paper for British literature, for Mrs. Gossett, your senior year of high school. I sense the actual ‘connection’ you have begins there, orndorff. It makes more sense than some romantic flights of fantasy. Post. – Amorella.
After Sixty Minutes and Andy Rooney. My first major writing assignment. Research at the main branch of the Columbus Public Library in 1959. Several trips were involved because I loved going to that library. During college I would sneak into the graduate stacks at OSU’s library, more fun because I wasn’t supposed to be there – always dressed as a grad student. No one was ever the wiser. Graduate school at Bowling Green State University, why not, they had a brand new modern library and I had my own ‘closet’ office with a key for the door no less. Most awesome. My love of British literature and most things British or the Isles no doubt added to the ‘feeling’ in watching the film on the Blitz of London and the fiery surroundings of St. Paul’s that terrible night in 1940. So, those ‘feelings’ towards respect for the Dead were transfers from my love for those Isles of my oldest known ancestors, DNA wise. I can’t help but think from time to time on how wonderful it would be if everyone could count the generations back on their own DNA tree. It would be more magical than seeing the Earth rising from behind the moon, that’s what I think. Everyone would know, with very few doubts, from whence they came into their own existence. Both sides of family, back to our common Mother. No need to go further. Now, there is a project to unite everyone everywhere on the planet. Who needs a mythology when you can have the truth? Well, mythology will work when filling in the blanks, it always has.
That last line is a grabber, boy. You read through three Time magazines today, you might as well finish up on the latest Newsweek and toss it to the trash also. This week a trip to Westerville on Thursday for the bimonthly supper of the WHS Class of 1960. And, upon return, a Friday night nearby pub adventure for the Indian Hill Classes of the Seventies supper. Your first time in attendance.
I am looking forward to both. Otherwise, ready as ever to meet the coming work week of the retired.
Post. – Amorella.
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