Not quite mid-morning. A rather dismal beginning of the day. You 'completed' "Diplomatic Pouch -1" last night but decided to wait for a cleaner check this morning. You would be better off waiting until you completed DP-2 to better assure yourself you are on track. Don't overload the reader with alien philosophy when bits and pieces will do. Relax. Do your exercises. - Amorella
0920 hours. Exercises complete and we are readying to go to the park for Carol's walk. I feel better once the exercises are done but my glucose was 142 this morning. I cannot remember when it was that high. Very light breakfast and a light supper planned. I might as well go for a lighter lunch while I'm at it. I had a third piece of pizza last night that is the only difference in my routine. I found another change or two on DP-1 on a note I scribbled by the bed when I was half asleep. I need to be more conscious of my writing and what I am doing.
Later, dude. Post. - Amorella
This seems an unlikely place to post.
And, why is that? - Amorella
I haven't said anything.
Perhaps you do need to be more conscious. - Amorella
1236 hours. While the house was quiet I watched last night's "Grimm" for a diversion. --
Carol's home and we are heading to Olive Garden for lunch after she sorts, opens and writes a check for a the bill or two. You were looking for magazines but no such luck today. - Amorella
I am already waiting for two new magazines (a years subscription), Motor Trend and Car and Driver. --
You had a good lunch at Olive Garden and are now at the local Barnes & Noble while Carol looks for books. It is interesting to observe your observations of sweet young twenty and somethings, orndorff. - Amorella
I think it is built in, Amorella. A pretty young lady comes into view and while I don't really
focus the pretty ones catch my eye.
Sometimes you focus on those upper thighs and butt, boy. - Amorella
Okay. How can I deny this? I am uncomfortable not denying it. Now, why is that?
That's the point. You need to be aware of the cultural influences. Some are so imbedded (my word choice). - Amorella
We are not so free, sex is obviously genetics.
Keep that in mind with your marsupial humanoids. They are not so free either. The mutual attractions are already there. - Amorella
The point is that Diplomat is more than a probability.
In these three books you will find that (as you thought rather whimsically back at the beginning of the original Braided Dreams) there is more to genetics than meets the eye. A direction of purpose based on reason that leads (in this next edition) beyond the grave and beyond. - Amorella
So, I will learn some stuff, imaginary stuff, but it ought to be interesting. I'll take insight into the probable real no matter where it comes from.
Good. You have a wealth of 'worked' imagination already. No question about that. We are going to include a hint of a couple of these points in these first three sections of BD2. Remember at the conclusion of book three the reader discovers that by the middle of the twentieth century your genetic Mother, Gloama, has already left HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither. This is true of the marsupial humanoid's original genetic Mother also. - Amorella
The first thing that comes to mind is Clarke's Childhood's End.
Concepts open themselves to consciousness within the framework of genetic time. A concept before its time means little or nothing. You witnessed an example of this is Grandma's Story on the concept of the zero. - Amorella
Diplomat then is a hybrid flowering of a concept.
Of sorts, not for herself, but for those who follow her.
Hasn't this been done before?
This concept is not here yet and it won't arrive until you are well into book three (which would have been book six). Post. - Amorella
No sense attempting to imagine but if it is a concept that will work for a present two and a half year old and a sixth month old that adds to the fun for me.
In here humor is a saving grace, boy. Now that you are home, post. - Amorella
2058 hours. I have completed DB2N. Still, I would rather wait than put it on the blog.
Why?
This is because of further possible adjustments on these first two Diplomatic Pouch sections. They 'seem' okay. I like the flow. Both pass the readability test 100 percent.
You are being too timid for the wrong reasons. Put them together as a unit for now not as sections of chapters. Let them ride. Then we can begin work on chapter three. - Amorella
*** ***
Diplomatic Pouch - 1
Pyl Burroughs sat straight and narrow upfront to the left of the pilot, her brother Blake, The second row seat behind Pyl had been taken out allowing thirty-three year old Justin to comfortably sit with sturdy legs stretched in front of the third row of cabin seats. With the engine in idle the three awaited runway departure instructions for take off from Detroit's old city airport to Burke Lakefront in Cleveland. "On the Road Again" had just begun playing in the background with interspersing interruption from the tower.
Pyl turned excitedly, "Jus, what'd you think of the auto show?"
"I liked it. I liked the new Ford Fusion the best."
"I liked it too. Which one did you like best, Blakey."
"Right now, I like the weather best. Sunny and mild, not bad for a third of the way through January."
"Who would have thought we would fly to this year's show back in October," commented Justin.
"Warm winter, so far," added Pyl somberly while thinking, if we ditch in the lake we'll have no ice to land on.
Looking towards his brother-in-law Justin asked, "Isn't this a pretty old plane?"
"Hey, the only thing we didn't add was leather seats. We should have never ordered these to begin with. They are over ten years old and I can't stand them."
Pyl quietly reflected, when this plane was new Daddy had the best leather seats, then said, "Daddy loved this plane, didn't he Blakey?"
Sighing in the upcoming air of redundancy he dryly commented, "Daddy loved this plane, Pyl. Being too kind, he added the roughage, "Dad truly loved this for the business it brought rather than pleasure it gave."
Pyl cracked back, "We took so many family trips." She near silently grumbled, "No more kind Blakely, the butt is back."
Justin perked at Pyl's freshly defensive tone. Never-ending squabbles. Never-ending family squabbles between these two. I don't know how their parents put up with it.
Blake talking under breath, noted, "We are a go on 33."
Justin leaned forward adjusting so he could watch the instrument needles fluttering and the worn but solid asphalt runway disappearing beneath the rotating three blade prop.
An hour into their flight Blake and Justin were enjoying the quiet drown of the engine along with the darker blue above and the gray blue waters of Lake Erie thousands of feet below. Dusk around five, fancied Blake when the tip of the left wing lightly tapped something. Blake quickly adjusted and settled the flight.
"Was it a bird?" asked Pyl cautiously.
"Sounded like a new tire kicking up a stone," imagined Justin.
Blake picked up the small binoculars for a quick inspection, "There's a crack near the wing tip light. Damn, I just paid fifteen hundred for those." His puffed lower lip and grumbling demeanor lead to another round of silence through the uneventfully and thus satisfactory landing at Burke an hour before dark.
While Blake visually inspected the landing light held fiberglass wingtip more closely he observed a minute gray spongy substance within the slight crack, it was secondary to the fact that the crack appeared repairable for a lot less money than he had anticipated.
"What is that?"
"I don't know, Justin." Then after a pause, "Probably bird gut."
"Squeeze me out some," ordered Pyl. "I'll have it analyzed. I want to see what kind of bird it was."
"What for?" moaned Justin. "Jeez."
"Not much here, but get me something to put it in."
A quiet stranger walked up to the wing and seemingly began inspecting the damage.
Before her brother spoke, Pyl asked politely, "May I help you?"
"I saw you coming in. I am interested in buying an old Cessna P210N like this one," commented the otherwise noncommittal stranger.
The woman has such an odd dialect, thought Justin. Noting her large dark Mediterranean eyes, he extended his hand and said, "I'm Justin. This is my wife, Pyl and that's her brother on the stool."
The words echoed through Friendly's marsupial humanoid mind and into her marsupial humanoid heart. 'I'm Justin. This is my wife, Pyl and that's my brother on the stool.' My first formal introduction to a primatial humanoid. This was not our plan. We cannot phantom why Ship allowed the collision. Blackanot was On. At least there is no physical or mental harm to these earthlings, but Ship requests we have this plane for deconstruction and analysis. She quickly gathered herself into a warm smile, "Hello, I'm Friendly."
"That's your name?" questioned Pyl.
"Yes," Friendly gave her hand to Pyl, "that's my given name, and you are Pill?"
Pyl giggled, "My brother couldn't pronounce my real name so I have been stuck with Pyl ever since."
Friendly turned slightly and shook Justin's hand, "And you are the brother?"
"No, he's my husband. Blake is still inspecting the damage. My brother."
"We think a bird hit the wingtip light. A slight crack, but it appears repairable."
"I have a trace of the remains," added Pyl. "I'm going to have it analyzed to see what kind of bird it was."
A slight crack, thought Friendly. Ship was considerate. He would have been more so had he not allowed the hit at all. Interrupting her thoughts she said, "Well, good luck with making the repair. I assume you are not interested in selling."
"How much would you give for her?"
"Blake,” complained Pyl, "Daddy would never want us to sell this plane. She's family."
Looking directly up into Blake's face with a renewed confidence for a quick end to the matter, Friendly said, "Upon a descent inspection and fly about, I’ll give you up two hundred thousand and not a dime more," while concluding with a quick but hardened smile.
"Give me your card. I'll contact you tomorrow," responded Blake with a bit more politeness than he desired.
*** ***
Diplomatic Pouch - 2
The next morning Blake rambled down the stairs to find Pyl and Justin sitting at the table with toast and a cup of coffee and the Plain Dealer. "Morning," he murmured. Glancing out the large kitchen window, Blake added, "Looks like quite a few dog walkers out at the park."
"Joggers were out earlier," commented Justin, and with the slightest of sarcasm, "Just another wonderful day in the neighborhood."
"Right."
Pym put down the editorial page and said, "Are you really willing to sell the plane?"
"The offer is thirty-thousand more than its worth top dollar."
"Why is that?" said Justin. "We were talking about this earlier."
Blake walked to the cupboard for a cup, the refrigerator for skim milk, and the pantry from instant cocoa mix. "She said, tops at two hundred," he replied. "Odd that she brought up her top price rather than low-balling. I will say that." Nuked the milk and powdered cocoa.
"Justin thinks she has a Boston and Brooklyn accent. I agree that it's unusual, almost like English is her second language."
Blake laughed, "Or she's from down in the hills and worked to rid herself of that hillbilly twang. Business people don't like that uneducated slow tone even if the grammar is correct." He surprised himself with siding with the woman but not with the injustice that comes from not speaking correctly." He made his way to the table and sat down facing the window.
"You've taken a liking to her sudden friendliness, huh, Blakey," tweaked his sister.
With Justin quickly adding, "Sell the plane and gain a wife, is that the plan, old man."
"Then we'd have the plane back," joked Pyl only afterwards thinking that wouldn't be a bad idea.
"Don't you too have to go to work today?"
"We took the day off."
"If you stayed in Daddy's business like I did you wouldn't have to be going into working at all," said Blake dryly, while hopefully wishing they would help run the company. 'We live in the family house together. We might as well all be working at the same place mostly from here at home.'
***
Midmorning. Ship is setting well above the air traffic and well below any orbiting satellites. Lake Erie is straight down. Friendly sits around a handsomely dark p2wooded table-from-the-floor with Hartolite and Yermey. They are drinking a good-for-you yummy twistanshake and nibbling on p1green-forest-nuttleberry treats. All three sit bare breasted in colorful boxershorts loungers relaxed on comfortchairs down so their clean bare feet with toe nails well trimmed are firmly snuggled in the greenest plushest living blades of grass this side of their HomePlanetsThree. Ship's floor itself is a living piece of total bio-diverse machinery from outer hull to antigravobars pulse that allows these perspicacious marsupial humanoids to serve as Ship's heart, Ship's humanity, not Ship's mind.
In almost all situations Ship's mind can be left completely on his own. The worst that can happen is Ship will run to HomePlanetsThree naked save for his bioheart crew attached. When it comes to fight-or-flight the marsupial humanoids have always had some place to run to for safety. They have not had to stand-an-fight for over twenty-thousand earth years. Evolving higher consciousness on HomePlanetsThree saw to that.
"Do you think he'll take your offer?" asked fit and ready-for-a-swim Hartolite.
Yermey stated, "I'm more interested in why Ship allowed the wingtip's touch. Ship had to know the plane was close and he chose to do nothing about it."
With eyes narrowing in gaze, Captain Friendly commented, "He allowed the touch not a collision. I too wonder about this but for now we need to go with what is. Unknowingly this woman has scientific evidence of alien existence. Plus, it may be there is more evidence on the plane itself, traces of blackenot tissue for instance. I thought that under the circumstances it would be easier to buy the plane and allow them to make a healthy profit in the process. Besides, perhaps there is an electromagnetic reason that allowed the plane to get so close. It could have been an odd short-circuiting. Godofamily knows stranger things have happened in this galaxy.
"What do we do?" questioned Hartolite. "Ship is now autonomous as we came here against direct orders from ParentsinCharge."
"To save this species of primates from a most abominably sickening plague," whispered Friendly in her strikingly-for-her-species unconventionally commanding tone.
"We cannot know this for certain," calmed Yermey with his famously impish smile. "It is highly probable though, highly probable." This he quietly reasoned because otherwise he would not have volunteered for this surreptitious expedition.
*** ***
I am a little guarded here because DP1 has 977 words while DP2 only has 769 words. I should probably add more.
For length alone? When you come to the end you place a period and let it go. Not a good enough reason, boy. Post. - Amorella
You are reading an old letter from Bob, it is as fresh as the day he wrote it 4 November 1997. Carol came in and asked you if you want to watch the Democratic Convention Speech by Michele Obama and you said yes. You were watching earlier on MSNBC and found that when you listen to many speeches by fired up Democrats you weep stealthfully and silently. The words and emotions penetrate your heart as your mind already has the floodgates open. This is who you are. Post. - Amorella
What you say is embarrassingly true.
That is the very reason I want it posted. - Amorella
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