Moving on noon. Brennan is eating his lunch. Again,
he has taken a lot of attention this morning. You and Carol have helped him
stand; he has played with his toys and he said "A-B" out of the blue.
Yesterday it was "up". No connections either time, they just popped
out and he went on about his play. You had two short naps along the way. First
you had your exercises and your glucose was 102 with a blood pressure of 105/69.
However, you pulled a muscle in your lower back and ended up taking a pain pill
for it. Sharp pains until the little white pill took effect. This is the first
time you have had the computer on. Ellie is looking out the front window quite
satisfied the sun has finally come out Jadah is usually in the other window but
so far is nowhere to be seen. Earlier she was wrapped in her favorite shoebox
upstairs.
1146 hours. My back is feeling better. Carol is
talking away to the baby - lunch is over and she is trying to sing and dance
him to burp. Such is this kid's life. He will feel much better actually
crawling rather than push or pull, scooting and/or a roll singularly or in
combination. Mr. B can stand if I place him next to the fake leather black footstool;
he holds on feeling quite proud; sometimes on toes other times flat-footed. We
are getting accustomed to the usually smiling and busy little guy.
Carol
is making a whole wheat bread ham and turkey and cheese sandwich with spicy
mustard and sweet pickles for a picnic at Horseshoe Park.
Brennan is asleep in the back, only one window down
as it is in the low sixties. Cool and crisp tonight. We can use what you have
dropped in for working from the early Pouch sections. The focus is two fold
before Friendly and Hartolite decide it is time to act. Yermey is tired from a
little two on one and turns to philosophizing about the meaning of a possible
outcome he not fully considers. Think the latest on the ancient parchment
talked about on the news yesterday, the one that further suggests Jesus did
have a wife and he may have considered her an apostle. Carol is on page 113 of Kill
Shot.
1511
hours. I just completed Pouch-3 but it is around 1045 words.
You are home and more attention has been
paid to Brennan who is a very social little boy who is proud to be standing
tall even with Grandma or Papa help. In between Carol has been reading her book
and you have been discovering a way to put old words together new. - Amorella
Once I am into it the fun begins and time
disappears. The muse dances, but I am sure you are the one helping me stand a
little taller too.
I
only help when you need it boy. Add the full Pouch - 3 here. With a bit of
further tweaking it may be a little more or a little less. Then we return to
chapter three as a whole. Once it is configured and shipshape for now we'll
post it, probably tomorrow or Friday before you leave for home. Then when we do
you can set up a new left side of the blog posting showing the date of the
'nearer final' three chapter drafts. Add and post. - Amorella
*** ***
Diplomatic Pouch - 3 © 2012, rho
Blake
and Justin cleaned up the table from lunch to walk out the front door to see
examples of the unstable bricks that need replacing in the half oval sixty-foot
driveway.
Pointing,
Pyl said, "Do you see how these bricks are out of place?"
"What
do you want me to do about it?"
"Get
them fixed."
Justin
interjected, "It's January, Pyl."
"You
have to take all the bricks up, put down a few inches of concrete then a layer
of sand, then the bricks. I'll take a month. Not the right time of year,
Pyl," Blake paused, "I like them as they are; it gives the drive a
cobblestone effect."
They
turned leaving Pyl to her self-set yard-keeping duties. "How is the
company, Blake?" asked Justin as they headed to the comfortable couch and
high back chairs in the Bose media room. Once the smooth jazz was playing in
the background and they were comfortably relaxed. Blake talked like the CEO of
Communication Software Exchange.
"You
know Dad started in a small empty office space that had been a used book store
downtown near Fenn College with an electrical and software engineer."
Justin
smiled, "Who would have thought Fenn Engineering would become Cleveland
State."
"Dad
took some classes there in the early sixties but moved to Case. We've lived in
this area for fifty years. Pyl and I grew up in the three-story off West
Fairmount in Cleveland Heights."
"Pyl
asks me to drive by every time we come up. Beautiful home. I love that big
screened in side porch."
"Dad
had it screened. It had from the twenties. He reconditioned the motors himself.
We used it full time most of the summer. Anyway, in the late seventies he
thought about getting into the radar detector business following the tenets of
Cincinnati Microwave, but he stuck with the software business and built up the
software communications exchange. People wanted to buy it for fifteen million.
He didn't sell and made me promise not to sell for anything fewer than
fifty-million. It's still going strong but not worth more than twenty-million
at best. I'll get us a drink."
Justin
shook his head positive, "I'll take a Coke Zero," and sat chilling to
a George Benson's guitar piece. Blake always says too much, he thought, except
when he is in a business deal.
Pyl
strolled in from the back yard. "I love that big old sugar maple,
beautiful orange leaves in the fall."
"I'm
thinking about getting it cut that down, it's getting too old, if it gets
struck by lightning it could fall on the back of the house," said Blake
too perfectly serious.
Justin
turned up a Walter Beasley sax rendition of "Do You Wanna Dance," as
he sipped his Coke. He shook his head thinking Blake throws out the bait and
Pyl always picks it up. It's no wonder we don't live this close.
***
On Ship and after a shared communial lunch, Hartolite
whispered, “Do you need a little more action, Yermey? She noted his quiet smile
as he slid his right hand into her pouch. She whispered, “You are at least two
hundred years old younger than Friendly and me.
"Yeah,
well it's probably been five years since I've this dressed this far down."
Probably be five more years after this little meetanmatch, he thought. Whenever
women have big decisions to make an itch comes over them and there is not a man
alive that can satisfy it. My left hand rests, and now my right hand sits in
Hartolite's all too warm pocket. It's just biological habit no matter how much
personal pleasure.
Friendly
leaned over on his stomach and giggled, "It's been ten years if it's been
a day." Hartolite echoed the giggle.
Yermey
unslid his hand-from-pouch and abruptly sat up. “Yeah, well,” he grumbled as he
walked his legs to the room wall to pick up fresh overalls from the wall chute of
clothes and lazily put his legs in one at a time completely fed up with the whole
concept of intimate marsupialese physicality. Distain of women rose, 'the women
pop us in those pouches when we are tiny babe crawlers and never let us go. We
men grow up to always expect to put a hand in a pouch at a woman's seductive
glance. Always the expectation can arise. The women never seem to tire. What
the men may or may not gain only lasts for seconds. Alas, we cannot survive
with a climb to the pouch. Such is the biological fate of our male species. He
turned to the already bedinthewall; they are gone already and without a word of
thanks.
In
such moments Yermey turned too moody philosophizing on the ancient story of
marsupial humanoids' Great Fall. I don’t believe the myths or our clergy, he
thought - yet old stories hint at truths. Hartolite needs to study primatial
genetics more closely. There is a close connection between our ancient concepts
of Godofamily and these natives’ own concepts of God, even the story of The
Fall From Grace before creation of the universe is similar. These far seeded
myths must be genetically predisposed. I am of the position that our two
species higher consciousness is a natural law, a law of science, not
metaphysics. Our science is rides one track and our philosophies another and
never the twain shall meet.
Suddenly
he switched to seemingly lesser matters. Friendly is always upbeat and
positive. I can never move her to gloom. Hartolite is a good cuddle babe. She
forever flirts with me just as Friendly does, on her terms of course. Physical
sex is Godofamily’s private joke. We marsupial men would just as soon do our
public works in peace then sit around and tell man adventures and imagine more
comfortable settings and the most efficient devices for public and private
works possible.
Meanwhile
Hartolite and Friendly had come to a mutual conclusion, we buy the plane
tomorrow or take it in plain sight, whichever works best. "No matter. We
will be done with this episode," stated Friendly, "and do what we set
out to do, contact this primatial species directly and publicly. The shock will
do them good."
***
No comments:
Post a Comment