Notes - My Grandfather and Me / In Memory of Fathers Orndorff

         Today is your grandfather's birthday, he was born in 1895. He helped rear you up. For one, he gave you a set of encyclopedia (twenty-six volumes) that you read through in junior high school. He loaned you the money and bought your first new car for you (you paid him back once you began teaching), the 1965 dark green VW with all the bells and whistles a VW Beetle had in those days. He always stuck up for you in terms of your father's attitude towards who and what you should be (a scientist and a hunter/fisherman/outdoorsman) like himself). Popo was a father figure like Uncle Ernie. He was kind and a soft-spoken man who had owned an Indian motorcycle back in his younger days. To you Clell was cool and laid back. You took him to Florida in your new car to see an old friend of his who had recently retired - a real two-week adventure with Grandpa. He was one of kindest men in your life and you miss him still. - Amorella

         I would still be stumbling for words, Amorella. He always had shredded wheat cereal for breakfast. He always soft boiled his eggs by breaking them in a pan of boiling water. He always washed and rinsed the morning dishes (weekends) effectively and efficiently by his sparing use of running hot water. He was a hunter and fisherman and conservative (several conservation clubs) of the natural habitat. He had a quiet smile that I can see on my third cousin Dave Short. Over the years of growing up (from elementary school through high school) Popo also took me to church gatherings with him at the Second Evangelical United Brethren Church at the corner of Main and Grove across from Otterbein's campus. Kim and her cousin Sharon were baptized in the church. I haven't entered it since, but I remember, and we pass it regularly on our trips to Westerville. Aunt Patsy and Uncle Ernie attend that same church. Mom's folks were First Presbyterian - a different breed of theology and doctrine. The United Brethren were more outgoing (more social events) and fun (they even sang many of the hymns in the original German). The United Brethren were more like the Methodists they eventually merged with. They are now called United Methodists. That's the way I remember it. Those are my immediate thoughts on my grandfather, Clell Tullar Orndorff (1895-1974).  We will rest together where an older man and younger boy/man used to walk the dogs and talk on life in the pleasure of shade trees and stones, Otterbein Cemetery, not a bad conclusion to life, not in the least. Both set of grandparents and many relatives, friends and acquaintances I have known in life will rest with us.

         You are thinking, "I would just as soon wait that last sleep awhile, but it will come when it will come and I am long ready for it." - Amorella

         You are too honest and blunt with my heart, Amorella. I cannot deny those sentiments however.

         No matter in disclosing a truth, boy. The refreshment does you good. Carol is coming up from the woods in the park. When home, post. - Amorella

         A late lunch at Smashburgers as you had a coupon for a free side. You both love their sweet potato smash fries. You have returned to the far north end of Pine Hill Lakes Park sitting on the east side of the sixty to seventy-foot hill to the immediate west of the lot. Clouds have moved in though. Remnants of Hurricane Isaac will be rolling through Saturday and Sunday. - Amorella

         You have been mulling over "Pouch-2" and decided to drop some material on the marsupials in from Pouch-4 to speed it up. Also, you have complications with the flashback to the 1988 first landing on earth when most people were dead (a twin earth and a real one from my perspective). I understand your concern and I also feel that you need not drop all sections to a 500 word maximum. This was an idea the kept you awake into the night. - Amorella

         How can I cut the number of words in half and have the story say twice as much? I thought that was the idea.

         You are being too literal, boy. You wanted all those details in the first edition because 'immense detail' is a part of an existential novel and to you Moby Dick fit the bill as an example of detail. - Amorella

         1651 hours. We are home. Those were my thoughts going into the first book of the trilogy. I added detail to make the works more substantial, more realistic. I am now being reminded as to where I was coming from at the time.

         Thank you for not attempting to apologize for the facts. - Amorella

         I thought better of it.

         Once home you headed to the basement to search for an old photo of your grandfather to place in today's blog for an added memory and in doing so you remembered that you told Marcia and Dave that you would look of some old college photos that his children might like to see. - Amorella

         I did. I have the box setting on the floor to my right. I will take a while to dreg through all of them and if I am going to do that I should put them in some sort of decade order for mulling through at a later date.

         Take a break and get it done, boy. - Amorella

         1938 hours. I have the photos in one box sorted, mostly by people and events. Most of the photos are of Kim in her elementary school years, ages six through ten. I have a few of my grandparents. The photo I want is of Popo once retired and sitting in his rocking chair on the front porch. There is one at my Great-Grandparents Orndorff's farm in Center Village, Ohio of my great-grandfather, Howard Sherman (1864-1949), grandfather, Clell Tullar (1895-1974), dad, Richard Bookman (1918-2001) and myself, Richard Henry (1942). It was taken shortly after the war, 1946-1947.

         This photo will do. Scan and drop it in tribute to the three men, since you wouldn't be here without their own personal contributions. - Amorella.

In Memory of my Fathers

         That will be all for tonight. Post. - Amorella

          This was not my expected post for today, but I think my Grandfather would appreciate it. 

Notes - on Diplomatic Pouch-2 / quick delete /

         0902 hours. Sitting in the shade at the far north end of Pine Hill Lakes Park waiting for Carol to finish her two-mile round. Uncle John was in good spirits yesterday; he had some jokes and tried to bait Carol into an argument on women's issues. She still pretty much holds to her convections of 1967. There was no "to obey" in our wedding vows. I thought it was rather spunky of her at the time. To her and my mother's cultural thinking this was too avant-garde.

         As you are alone with your thoughts listening to the birding calls and noting the sun's continual rise via the shadows from the tall trees you might speculate on how it would be attempting to cut "Diplomatic Pouch" (where possible) to less than a thousand words. There was a time in the 1980's where you wrote a series of short stories with each less than a thousand words for the fun and challenge. What do you think? - Amorella

         That popped into mind for a second or so either last night or this morning.

         Yes, orndorff, that's why I bring it up. - Amorella

         Man, that would be a task. I don't know how the first "Pouch" was less, maybe I even thought of it then. The chapters would be much more balanced.

         I will help on this consciously and unconsciously. Remember, some points you really don't want to drop will not be because if anyone is later interested, your grandsons for instance, they can dig it out from the originally published books.

         Ha! The words, "Let it go, Luke," roll into mind under the theatrical voice Alec Guinness as Obi-Wan Kenobi. This is interesting. I wonder how it is for the Dead to delete or to find themselves deleted to only what they can take with them? Bare bones. Well, hopefully more than that, at least spiritually.

         You are using the word "spiritually" in a different context. Look it up. - Amorella

** **

spiritual (adjective)

1 your spiritual self: nonmaterial, incorporeal, intangible; inner, mental, psychological; transcendent, ethereal, otherworldly, mystic, mystical, metaphysical; rare extramundane. ANTONYMS physical.

2 spiritual writings: religious, sacred, divine, holy, nonsecular, church, ecclesiastical, faith-based, devotional. ANTONYMS secular.

From: Oxford-American software

** **

         I mean spiritual in the sense of "transcendent, ethereal". I think this would be quite a shock, for some twice the shock, once in consciousness  actually surviving physical death and twice, the immediate question: what is this, I am next to nothing of my former self? This would be cool to demonstrate somewhere in the revision.

         You and Carol spent the last hour chatting about family, etc. in the shade at McD's (late breakfast snack) over near Kings Island.

         1121 hours. Kroger's on Kings Mill Road. Indeed, I always go with the line from a famous old American play, "Everyone has a right to his own troubles." That includes us also. People live their lives and most have some choice in it. A few don't. I'm think growing up being a British prince for instance. People learn to work with who they are or they don't.

         You are very much the existentialist. What if you had to give that up?  - Amorella

         Whoa. Good question, Amorella.

         I want you to keep thinking about the Dead as you work through "Diplomatic Pouch". - Amorella

         What would take its place? That is, if dead and the existential view was no longer relevant, what would be a for instance (in juxtaposition). The shock for the dead humanoid-marsupials to realize HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither now has alien humanoids, non-marsupial humanoids in the same afterlife setting?

         Yes. 

         In book four or three the human mother Gloama first went to the humanoid-marsupial Place of the Dead and then decided she would rather leave and set up a humanoid Place of the Dead.  I forgot Gloama was allowed to do this just as Diplomat the hybrid (mostly in book three) also appears to have a choice as to which Place of the Dead she wished to visit, something of this sort.

         You are now home, groceries are put away and the afternoon has not been planned. Post. Later, dude. - Amorella

         1534 hours. We had the usual shared (split) lunch at Penn Station, stopped at Staples for desk and file supplies; now we have returned to the tall tree shade (west side of the lot) in the far north Pine Hill parking for Carol's reading, this time she is on page 97 of Grisham's The Litigators. Time to work on the "Pouch". We begin with 4048 words. Getting this down to 1000 or under is going to be a real challenge.

         First, make an extra copy and use that skim read it and I'll direct you where to delete. - Amorella

         That's a good plan, Amorella, better than anything I could think of. . . .  (1556) Okay, down to 1548 words just like that. Amazing. 

         You are stopped at Kroger's once again, this time for eggs for potato salad, then to the post office and a return home. Let's make more cuts, then we can go from what remains. - Amorella

         You cut it down to 1185 words. Awesome.

         You are home. Post. - Amorella

Notes - 'Grandma's Story 2' revised; then the original below

        You did work some more but are reluctant to post the material on the blog because you don't think it is up to par. The sun has risen, Carol is downstairs, the bed is made and within two hours you will be on your way to Westerville.

         0758 hours. It is so much more pleasurable to edit with the iPad I am not sure why, but it is. I have been working the introductive pages to the point they are more to my satisfaction and I have placed automatic page numbers (Roman numerals) on the intro, etc. and auto numbers on chapter one. so it will look more like a finished book. The published works have the title on the left page and my name on the right page. That seems a little much to put on the left and right of each page.

         For now put the title on the left and ©2012.rho on the left for consistency. - Amorella

         2032 hours. I tried that before we left. It did not work. I'll just keep the page numbers for now.

         Grandma's Story is far enough along to expose in the blog. Perfection is not the intent and you still have time before we place the first two chapters on the blog. Tonight and tomorrow we can work on "Diplomatic Pouch'.

 *** ***        

Revised

Grandma’s Story – Two

Grandma traces your ancient genetic Eve’s DNA through various shamans or storytellers because they understood Merlyn's use trancephysics though not by that name. Trancephysics is a vehicle Merlyn uses to slide his mind into the heart of Captain Lamar, which is really the heart of Richard, the younger brother of Robert. Think of it as a retro-quantum entanglement setup. No modern physics involved, only the time-tested qualities of heart and soul and mind. Sir Phillip Sydney a tolerable Elizabethan I poet created a quiet line about it in a poem titled, "Arcadia":

         My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,

         By just exchange one for the other given:

         In modern times some physicists suggest that the properties of light and of thought have similarity. It is possible in quantum mechanics for a particle may be in two places at once, in an entanglement. Merlyn sides more with the poet though he knows more about quantum mechanic. Anyone who has ever been deeply in love has experienced the same thing as Sydney so eloquently describes in those two lines above. One doesn't need a degree in modern physics to understand what love might capture from one human being only to end up sharing it fully with another. Merlyn can share his mind with another but only through his heart.

*

This second story I have for you, noted Grandma with the flash of her left eye in a wink, is told by a descendent of the old man mentioned in Grandma's first chapter.

The shaman who told his audience they could be out in the stars and here on Earth at the same time. He traveled to the Place of the Dead too. Odd that the listener who asked the question would die first, but she did. The shaman lived another ten years after she died. She drowned in a then nameless river. The woman had been his granddaughter.

A direct female descendant traveled from northern Italy to the Spanish and Basque regions about fifteen thousand years ago, and within the next five thousand years of generations, another direct descendant found herself on the British Isles in a strong Scot and Basque mix. More than another two thousand years later, in the eighth century before the common era, a shaman appeared on the Isles who had some tall tales about Mother Earth and the Nature in human beings.

  

This particular shaman spent a great deal of time walking the woods and daydreaming north of Salisbury Plain and southeast of Scotland. The shaman dreamed a new story. He was five when he first had the dream but when he awoke, it wasn’t there. The next night he dreamed it again and thought about it for the next fifteen years. The annoying and persistent vision  centered on a rebellion in the Place of the Dead. This is what he told the tribe:

“The cold, icy fingers of the Dead want to feel their way back home to Earth our Mother. The Dead do not have to go all the way to the Stars in Heaven. The Dead are still among us.”

He related this to others and said, “If you cremate the Dead, their bones will be blackened like the night. They will not have to see their bodies rotting and the animals won’t dig them up, and the quicker they will be a part of Mother again, and best of all, they will have no icy cold fingers reaching out to us the Living.” He continued, “You can close the burial spot with stone. Stones don’t move so easily as the spirits do.”

A short story, don't you think? This shaman also became interested in crystal. He had found himself in more than one cave with crystal. Crystal, he believed, was a piece of the skull bone of Mother Earth, and when he held it, the piece of crystal skull produced a vibration this shaman could feel in his fingertips. A small piece of crystal in his left hand produced an empathy with whom or what he touched with his right hand. With the crystal in one hand, the shaman could sense a movement within particular stones with the other hand and the low vibration held the feelings of the Dead. No one knew this wasn’t possible, so it was.

The stones never move themselves, but people claimed that with the right crystal you could sense the stone moving within itself as people move within themselves. People have a spirit and so do stones. That was the logic. Eggs like fragile stones can appear dead on the outside but be living on the inside. People can appear living on the outside and be dead on the inside just the opposite of a pebble or stone held in the hand. Stones and people have that in common.

*

Grandma smiled with a knowing wink and continued with her story. The crystal worked its empathetic magic on human beings. It worked for the shaman so he told it as a true story. Stones are like bones. You line them up true and right and there they lie, that’s the truth of it.

Grandma glanced beyond the dark sky above. The white in her eyes could tell you her dark pupils were disappearing inside that earthy head of hers. I got me the chant, she said, takes us from a past to a future. She sang the following words then returned into the fuller Nature she is.

From two ancient human hearts by the soul made singing

Return this story to where passions are ringing

This well known druidess and druid will do

In the same spirited body that make up you.

Within the corridor where stirring memories show

Vivien and Merlyn now on Charon’s ferry flow

And from this old Grandma’s toothy gums

Something oddly familiar, in this way comes.

*** ***

         This has 977 words I cut it down from (what?) - I can't believe it, a variety of changes and it is still 977 words. What would be the odds?

*** ***

Original

Grandma's Story 2

Grandma traces Eve’s DNA through various shamans of old. Why shamans? The shaman or storyteller understood what I call trancephysics. Any reader who finds herorhimself immersed in a good book or as a moviegoer discovers herorhimself immersed in a good film, understands what trancephysics is. Trancephysics is the vehicle Richard Graystone uses to place himself onto Captain Lamar’s ferryboat to ride into a past, a present, or a future.

*

This second story is told by a descendent of the old man mentioned in the first chapter, the shaman who told his audience they could be out in the stars and here on Earth at the same time. He traveled to the Place of the Dead too. Funny that the listener who asked the question would die first, but she did. The shaman lived another ten years after she died. She drowned in a then nameless river. The woman had been his granddaughter.

A direct female descendant of hers traveled from what is now northern Italy to Spain. This was about ten thousand years ago, and within the next thousand years of generations, she had found herself on the British Isles with people now called Basques. A few had settled on in lower Western Britain. As the families grew, some moved on to Ireland. Others to Scotland and Wales. More than five thousand years later, a shaman appeared who had some tall tales centered on Mother Earth, the Sun, the Moon, the Stars, and the Nature of human beings.

This particular shaman spent a lot of time walking the woods and daydreaming north of Salisbury Plain and southeast of Scotland. The shaman dreamed a new story. He was five when he first had the dream but when he awoke, it wasn’t there. The next night he dreamed it again and thought about it for the next fifteen years. The vision settled in on a rebellion in the Place of the Dead. This is what he told the tribe:

“The cold, icy fingers of the Dead want to feel their way back home our Mother. The Dead did not have to go all the way to the Stars in Heaven or even to the Moon. The Dead among us.”

He related this to others and said, “If you cremate the Dead, their bones will be blackened like the night. They will not have to see their bodies rotting and the animals won’t dig them up, and the quicker they will be a part of Mother again, and best of all, they will have no icy cold fingers reaching out to us the Living.” He continued, “You can close the burial spot with stone. Stones don’t move so easily as the spirits do.”

This shaman also became interested in crystal. He had found himself in more than one cave with crystal. Crystal was the skull bone of Mother Earth, and it produced a vibration this shaman could feel in his fingertips. A small piece of crystal in his left hand produced an empathy with whom or what he touched with his right hand. With the crystal in one hand, the shaman could sense a movement within particular stones with the other hand. No one knew this wasn’t possible, so it was.

The stones never move themselves, but people claimed that with the right crystal you could sense the stone moving within itself as people move within themselves. People have a spirit and so do stones. That was the logic. Eggs like fragile stones can appear dead on the outside but be living on the inside. People can appear living on the outside and be dead on the inside just the opposite of a pebble or stone held in the hand. Stone and people have that in common you see.

*

Grandma smiled and winked. The crystal worked its empathetic magic on human beings. It worked for the shaman so he told it as a true story. Stones are like bones. You line them up just right and they lie, that’s the truth of it.

Grandma glanced beyond the dark sky above. The white in her eyes could tell you her dark pupils were disappearing inside that earthy head of hers. I got me a chant, she said, to take us from a past to a future. I am the board on which the Shamans dance. Grandma rushes from past to future, just like young lovers do. She said:

*** 

From two ancient human hearts by the soul made singing

Return this story to where passions are ringing

      

This well known druidess and druid will do

In the same spirited body that make up you.

Within the corridor where stirring memories show

Vivien and Merlyn now on Charon’s ferry flow

And from old Grandma's toothy gums

Something oddly familiar this way comes.

***

         Surely the computer miscounted or I left something out.

         What should be your concern here is that it is now better written than it was the first time around. Later, Dude. Post. - Amorella

Notes - working

        Early afternoon. You had lunch at First Watch west of the Streets of Westchester per Carol's request. In the morning you had a doctor's appointment on Five Mile Road in Anderson Township about a mile west of I-275. Everything appears fine health-wise. You are upstairs with the shade up for full light and are thinking about taking a nap before writing.

         I am. I am making some changes though and I think I will wait until I have three chapters completed before I put it on the blog. First, I am changing the title to Braided Dreams II (and so forth). I am also chopping more from the Intro. No need for the DNA business, that was my lead it being an American writing about a British character, I thought that gave me legitimacy (which it did for me personally). Bare bones, if the words are going to be my dressing it might as well be without adornments, most of them anyway. Plain Jane, black and white will do. I'm going to try a nap.

         2107 hours. Had a long nap, hamburger and veggies for supper and then we watched "Major Crimes". I have been working on the last two years of photos. Re-filed, and am putting them on Carol's computer tonight or tomorrow. We are off to Westerville in the morning to have lunch with Uncle John and Mary Lou. I don't know what else to say other than I will spend part of the evening editing and proofing "Grandma's Story - 2".

         You are thinking of ways of taken yourself out of the story altogether but that isn't going to happen. The references to Richard though will all be transferred to the character in the story no leaps to yourself outside the story. It is still self-referential for what it needs to be.

         2213 hours. I can't work any more tonight.

Notes - 'The Dead' sec/ch2.sage / wkg. with Grandma / "Brothers - 2"

         Mid-morning. You are sitting up near the earth dam at Pine Hill Lakes Park while Carol walks. It is a cloudy humid morning that was supposed to see rain but has not. You had a strange dream. Doug was taking you to a special physics library at OSU back when he was working on his doctorate. He said, "See, here it is, the book I was telling you about." You both sat at a library table -- Doug turned to his right and was talking to a friend while you browsed through this small magazine styled book. It appeared there were mystical signs and numbers -- the color of the pages was bluish-green like Gulf of Mexico water. The print was in yellow that gave it a rather comic book flare without cartoon figures in strips. 'I need to understand what Doug has been saying,' was your thinking as you attempted to decipher the contents. 'I need to understand, to absorb this.' Doug turned to you and said, "I knew you would like this [as I do].' That was the conclusion. - Amorella

         What comes to mind as you were writing and I was reading is that the physics of light and the physics of thought have a commonality. I like to think of 'thought' (in waves or particles) more as metaphysics than physics. "To see the light," is metaphorical. We don't see the light we see the reflection of light. I don't know. This is what comes to mind, but so then does "a camp of concentration" - hunkering down in thought or thinking of the Dead. I am confused, Amorella. I am mixing metaphor and reality. I need to keep on task and work through "The Brothers-2".

         You aren't finished with "The Dead -2" yet. - Amorella

         You want me to clean it up now? I think I should have cleaned it up more before I put it online in the first place.

         Then do it now and keep that in mind from now on. - Amorella

*** ***

The Dead - 2 ©2012

         Merlyn sat on a mind-made stone stump wondering what thought balls were about to hit the table. I have witnessed much in having been dead since the late 600's. Anno Domini is what we were taught by the Church. "In the year of our Lord" 670 comes to mind. I suppose it was somewhere around my birth or death. I cannot remember. Druids learned Greek and Latin. We memorized vast tracks of folklore and wisdom. This is what society expected, and this is what we did. He noticed, rather unexpectedly, the white cue ball materialize on the billiard table beside him. I would rather enjoy these Scottish trees and the flowering meadow.

         Quite an eclectic setting I've nested I have here, smiled Merlyn -- the makings of a clearing and nineteenth century billiard table of oak and slate next to this old tree stump I'm sitting on; a small stream trickling nearby, just enough to please these ears that do not exist. No one sees my brooch of yellow sun, no such adornment cloths this place or HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither for that matter. A light blue tunic of sky with an occasional white fluffy pin or pale bone or two of cloud infiltrates the jacket. No one among the Dead can create a rain swept or snow-laden field that sheorhe had the pleasure of witnessing in life, no one, not even Merlyn. Beyond the garment or cloak of sky I can make out the transparency of chessboard walls holding my spirit. My heartansoulanmind are imprisoned within. Me in my solitary fortress is what it is like to be dead. The soul shell clams me in. I am not stuckinagray as the marsupial-humanoids thought they were. I have brushed such alien souls though. Highly conscious beings such as they and we humans are now together among the Dead. We two species may interact with heartsanminds in these modern days of the common era of the twenty-first century. I am in the nineteenth of your centuries presently, but I can see your present, my future, as if on a screen, a light reflecting metaphor.

         Out of the corner of his eye Merlyn witnessed the cue ball moving down the table, hit the rubber on the far end and come almost straight back to where it had been.

         You did not hear the cue ball tap one of your solids, switched the Supervisor.

         'I did not. I thought I was alone with my species.'

         'I put the orange in the far right pocket.'

         'What unconscious thought of mine did that you put away?'

         'The boatman.'

         Merlyn smiled in surprise. 'I don't have to pay the boatman?' proclaimed Merlyn's heart with more childhood energy than Merlyn realized he had.

         'You pay, boy,' snapped Merlyn's mind. ' Everybody pays the boatman, even the Supervisor.'

         Merlyn muttered, 'the pearly white Gate of Heaven sets on the very far side of this rubescent River Styx.'

         'The Styx is where you are,' commented the Supervisor dryly.        

         A ferry, flashed through Merlyn, Captain Lamar has a ferry. I can return to earth by the ferry once I find the boatman. ['Which Richard?' asked the unseen elephant in the room.] Merlyn who was not fully reading the writing on the wall, grumbled, 'Who is this Richard?'

         Gloama secretly appeared, this time caught like tiny, naked and a faery white princess seed caught in Merlyn's left third fingernail. 'Prick this fingerless finger,' she suggested to Merlyn's ear that is not while caressing and seducing his fleshy induced finger into a more feminine comfort.

         'Whoa,' whispered Merlyn thinking Vivian was at the very least kissing or even sucking slowly on his third left finger that didn't really exist.

         On the green covered slate of mind, Merlyn observed the eight ball set at the very center of the green field. I have no other balls, shuttered Merlyn, not even the cue ball to knock this mother of an eight ball off center.

*** ***

         This is much better.

         Impatience is not a virtue, boy. This work is not based on clock hours. You are as Merlyn, half a man living, and half a man dead while in the creative and writing mode. It's a two way street in this the most existential of realities, consciousness and unconsciousness.

         I do not have the time the Dead have, Amorella.

         But you have the imagination. Here you are having been writing on the street in the center of Rose Hill Cemetery after Carol completed her walk. You are stopped at the crossroad. Carol is reading page 19 of The Litigators by John Grisham. Once over twenty years ago while in a 'fit' you thought you saw the Dead rise like a yellow greenish light from the far west side of this cemetery.

         It was a fit, a flash of imagination as I drove by the cemetery. You are making this spooky, Amorella

         Seems appropriate enough. . .  Now that you are home, post. - Amorella

          1214 hours. I did my exercises, worked up sweat unusual for me (it must be the humidity), had a relaxing bath and feel much better. Carol is on the phone with my sister Cathy then we are heading out to Chipotle/Panera for lunch. The street appears wet so it has sprinkled.

         You are wondering about "The Brothers" - we can work on it after lunch. Your passion appears to ebb before writing. This is not the Olympics, young man. Relax. - Amorella

         Well, in ancient times they ran naked too. I'm not such a handsome fellow, never have been. I think the words are a clothing of sort. There is more in here between the lines than I expect when the writing is actually occurring. The brackets work well for the unseen elephant in the room too.

         All for now. Post. - Amorella

         1407 hours. A stop at Kroger's on Tylersville on the way home.

         You saw a former student in Panera, she was waiting for her take out order. When she had come in the door she smiled slightly and you thought, 'I know her.' She remembered you of course and mentioned that she had worked at Kidd's Coffee for several years. She asked how you were and you were going to mention that you had been in Cleveland taking care of a grandson only you couldn't remember what you were up there for because you couldn't think of the word you wanted. She said, "Baby!" and called you Grandpa then before you could ask what she was doing her food was ready so you said your good-byes for now and that was that. - Amorella

         You didn't need to put in the details, Amorella. I knew it was a baby but he's not really a baby any more. I don't know what they call a six month old. I am happy I saw her but I can't remember her name. She looked very fresh and pleasant in a black slinky kind of dress you can wear a bathing suit under (only more stylish). She is a grown up woman in her late twenties I would suppose. I always like to see a former student and say hello even if I can't remember herorhis name. I do miss seeing all those new faces each year and wondering how it was going to be. . . are we going to get-along, that kind of thing. I was rarely disappointed and I am ever thankful for that. I had forgotten she worked at Kidd's but then at Kidd's she was never wearing a long body-clinging fabulous black summer dress.

         2138 hours. I have been spending some time working through "Grandma's Story - 2". I have not completed it, perhaps tomorrow. It is interesting to drop and add and edit. I read a line and a thought pops up, a consideration I had not realized before. This is the way it was in creating the first trilogy. It is no wonder it only took me three years, I was on a marvelous imaginary adventure the whole time. It was not well written though; I can more easily see that now.

       2147 hours. I forgot to include "The Brothers -2".

         By all means, include it. - Amorella

***

The Brothers - 2

         “I see we are at your house again today. What are you watching?” asked Robert.

Richard had not stirred from his comfortable easy chair. “National Geographic. It's on DNA. An genetics researcher named Wells showing that we men are all genetic sons of a man who lived fifty-six thousand years ago in East Africa.”

“So what? Smiled Rob as he sat down next to a tall brass stick lamp their parents had bought a year before they died. Turn us males inside out anywhere in the world and we look pretty much alike; you don’t need DNA evidence to show you that.”

“That’s true,” replied Richard. “But it's interesting that sailing moved the brotherhood around pretty fast. The genetic Eve existed one hundred and fifty thousand years ago; the one all we living are supposedly descendant from.”

“Men are faster than women,” chuckled Rob. “You got anything to read? Where’s your latest Harper’s?”

“I hid it before you got here,” said Richard. "I pay for it so you'll get it when I'm done."

“I give you my poetry mags.” You are such an ass, judged Rob. “What did you think of my latest poem?”

“What’d you think of my first chapter?” snapped Richard.

Robert got up and headed to the refrigerator, “Where’s the high test Coke?"

“In the back on the right side second shelf from the top.” Where it always is.

“Golf's on ESPN,” said Rob coming into the room.

“You got it,” said Richard as he pushed the remote.

“Where’s Lady?”

Richard spoke lazily, “She’s sleeping on the living room couch. When Jean's gone and Lady heads for the couch. She can see the driveway and when Jean drives in, off she goes.”

While watching a terrific put both snickered imperiously. When the golfing crowd clapped rewardingly, Robert said, “Where's Lady? Wake the old girl up for company.”

         “Lady!” shouted Richard, “Come here, girl!” A commercial later, he shouted again, “Lady!” Still she slept. “She’s got junk in her ears again,” said Richard brooding on how, Rob’s terrier Jack is always obedient. He added, "Cockers have ear problems.”

         “So do you,” parried Rob.

         “Damn dog,” grumbled Richard as he rolled out of the couch.

         Robert heard the growl then the, “Damn!” He got up to see the comedy. “What happened?”

         “She bit me on the hand. Look at this!”

         “I see the marks but she didn’t draw blood. You must have startled her, Dickie. He looked down to see Lady under the coffee table. “Come on out, girl. It’s okay,” coaxed Rob in a soft voice. Lady crept out with her ears down. My terrier Jack would never bite me, thought Rob with a slight smirk.

         Robert pulled up the right ear. “You’re right. Look at the wax and crude in here. Get some tweezers and swabs,” then he added, “and scissors, she’s got hair tangles in there. I’ll clean this out.” Rob gently petted her, “It’ll be okay girl. You are such a pretty Lady. Pretty Lady,” he continued, stroking the venerable tan and white spaniel until Richard arrived with the small box of ear cleaning material.

         Lady soon found herself with cleaned ears and quickly leaped up on Rob for a wonderland of a belly scratch.  Richard hit the remote during the next commercial and caught the tail end of a broadcast asking for donations."

         “Everyone wants a donation,” said Robert.

         “I agree,” responded Richard as he flipped the channel back to ESPN. “I'm tired of all of it, charity, religion, politics - all of it."

         Rob added, “Lady and Jack have a better life than either of us.”

         “True,” said Richard as he reached and stroked Lady, “but she cares for us as only a mother can do.”

         Rob responded on cue, “We have to take care of ourselves. No one is going to do it for us. Nothing's free on this planet.” He groused, “It's a miracle our species has survived at all.”

         That’s true, thought Richard. The fifties and sixties, how did we survive that? No one thought we would live to be thirty and here we are in our seventies. “It is worse now than it was before.”

         “No,” countered Robert, “it was worse with the arsenal the Soviets and Americans had pointed at each other.”

         “One day some crazy group will explode a nuclear weapon somewhere in the remote Pacific and then say they have another, that's all it would take, even if they didn't have another.”

         “Why didn’t Truman do that?” said Robert. “Why couldn’t we have dropped the bomb near Japan so the power could not be hidden from the general population?”

         “War is not humane,” commented Richard.

         Robert countered, “But it’s human enough.”

“War dogs take care of their own,” said Richard.

“But they hardly ever bite the hand that feeds them,” snickered Robert.

         “Remember Rob," jibed Richard as he stuck his right forefinger in the air, "a bone in the hand is worth meat in the bush. Cheer up, old man, the world's bound to get worse."

***

           I hope this is better than the first "The Dead". I am sure I will see corrections to be made though.