04 October 2012

Notes - love is a bullet / a restless spirit / Grandma-4 completed


         Late morning. In two hours you have an appointment with Dr. S. Goel at his Fairfield office. You are hoping this will be the last appointment until sometime next year.

         If I don't return for a year it means my kidneys are fine considering the body as a whole. I haven't weighed myself yet today but I will before I go to check our scales if nothing else. I like all my doctors' personalities (all different but fun and interesting) but blood tests and cleaning up before a visit are arduous at best.

         You are sounding rather like your two and a half year old grandson here. Cleaning up is arduous, really orndorff. - Amorella

         That's the word that came to mind. Trimming toenails is arduous and it was time. Perhaps, if I were a hundred pounds lighter.

         You are more than a hundred pounds lighter, boy. Trimming toenails is hardly an arduous task; it is not an honest word here. - Amorella

         Okay, too much hyperbole.

         That was not your original context. - Amorella

         You bring up an interesting form of dishonesty. You are right. The hyperbole thought came after the word. I wonder how often human beings are guilty of this?

         It is like our friend, Doug, said in an email recently, people (because the brain is slower than the reality) are really living in an instant of the past not the immediate present. The instantaneous past is accepted as the present because consciousness is by necessity slower. - Amorella

         This would be interesting to bring up in a Grandma story but what would be the trigger? I suppose the bullet could be a metaphor. I don't know. I am thinking of a metaphysical conceit such as "love is a bullet."

         Take a few moments for a break then let's see what can be done with Grandma-4. Post. - Amorella


          1704 hours. I spent two hours in the doctor's office as they were behind at the dialysis clinic; a very busy place. A very late lunch at Longhorn's. Our usual sirloins with Carol having a sweet potato and me a baked. We split a salad and the treat was a new Marlow mushrooms dish for the steaks. The bread was hot out of the oven. Excellent meal as usual, and we had a chat with Jennifer our favorite waitress. Presently I am sitting in Rose Hill Cemetery waiting for Carol to make her walk-around.

         Fortunately I took the iPad to the doctor's and worked up a new paragraph/story to begin Grandma 4 and drop what we already had in at the conclusion. Most of the numbers on the blood tests were fine but for one area so the doctor ordered a different strength on one of my meds and called it in. So, back again, this next time 18 April at 1300 hours. The iCloud didn't carry the iPad work forward because I forgot to close it out and there is no wireless at Rose Hill. Here comes Carol . . . no, she turned the corner and heading south.

         You would like to finish up Grandma-4 but cannot remember what was written down though you liked the concept. - Amorella

         Yes. The fellow had liked to argue in life and while dead he only has one friend who always agrees with him. His restless spirit decides to debate within; heart versus mind. He figures he has never lost a debate and there is no way he can lose this one. (Funny, it just came back to me.) . . . Here comes Carol again, this time from the east, behind me. I think we are about to heading home.

         You are home. The national news will be on in half the hour. Post. - Amorella


         2222 hours. We watched two shows (NCIS and Elementary) DVRed and tonight's news. I cannot think of how a debate between the heart and mind can be mistakenly dishonest, or thought to be dishonest.

         How about the song, "Cuts like a knife"? - Amorella

         I had to look up the singer, Bryan Adams. I was thinking "Love cuts like a knife" but that is not correct; love is inferred though.

         You see the debate between his heart and mind is about his only friend who always agrees with him. His mind says she is pretending, that sometimes she has to disagree but chooses not to do so. His heart says, she does not disagree with me because she loves me. The deeper he thinks about this the less resolve he has for either argument. A pretty pickle, don't you think? - Amorella

         You are amazing, Amorella.          (2236)

         Let's finish it up boy so you can get to bed. - Amorella

Grandma's Story - 4  2nd Draft

         Wexer debated people most of his life, his spirit thrills on confrontation like a pyromaniac's mind bores into observing a roaring blaze. Once deadanliving, and finding but one friend (she never disagreed) among the Dead, he became profoundly bored, and his whip-biting spirit driven to great desperation, decided it was time to have a singular great debate between his heart and mind. Sharper and cleverer than he had been in life, he knew the in's and out's of grammar and construction in his native language. His restless spirit felt, 'I have never lost a debate and there is no way I can lose this one.'

         This is Grandma. I caught the passion leak away on this particular heartansoulanmind. He disappeared even among the Dead and no one knows what happened to him. When this happened friends of his woman's friend noticed she was more at peace with herself but neither she nor they understood why.

         This is the argument that human spirit decided to have. The debate between his heart and mind focused on his singular woman friend who always agreed with him.

         Wexer's mind debated that his friend was pretending to agree, that she could not possibly agree with all his arguments for or against one passion or another. Wexer's heart, on the other hand, debated that the woman friend, his only friend among the Dead, did not disagree with him because she loved him so terribly much. The deeper Wexer's spirit whipped its arguments the less resolve Wexer discovered he had in coming to a conclusion as to which was the winner, his heart or his mind.


Grandma sashayed and did a little calypso dance in her bare feet, threw her hands over her head, twirled, and clapped three times. She smiled like the glow of a tropical sunset and whispered a secret; “I just love these little freedom stories because they are real enough as any sunset or sunrise.”  What won, Wexer's mind or heart? Why did he disappear even among the Dead? Why did his woman friend become more at peace with herself after Wexer's spirit, his heartansoulanmind, disappeared from the scene?

I have one more dead man's short story here. This one balances out the first.

         Another ancestor, a shaman of about seven thousand years ago in the area of the Black Sea, stood by the fire one cloudy dark night in summer and said, “I have a new story. This is about a man who can be in two places at once while he is still alive. He can be standing here like me, telling a story, and,” he pointed to his north, “be in the woods telling a story at the same time. How do you think he accomplishes this?”


         This invited the listener to give herorhis own plausibility and the shaman discovered he could be enormously entertaining while being instructive; an unsolvable mystery no one could decipher to everyone’s satisfaction. ‘How is it possible for a person to be telling the same story in more than one place at the same time?’

         This story was so popular that shamans throughout the world were soon asking the question to their neighbors along the major world trade routes had been set into motion because people wanted goods from far away places. People wanted something valuable to keep for security, for peace of mind, and just for the pleasure of having material goods they did not already have. Storytelling helped pass the time on the journeys from Asia to Europe and Europe to Africa and from Africa to Asia. Some of the stories even migrated to the Americas.

         This particular storyteller created a mysterious set of written characters that allowed the carving of the story line onto a tree. Other tribe members were taught to read the runes, so it was possible for someone to be reading the story in one place while it was being told at the same time in another place entirely. Few could believe such a marvelous invention, but they soon discovered belief wasn’t a part of the equation. Below is a translatable representation of what the shaman wrote.

A, B, C, D, E, F, G
Now the characters you can see
H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P
Each as individual as you or me
Q, R, S, T, U, and V
Allow each us to remain free
W, X, Y, and Z
The beginning and the end carved on a tree.

And from Grandma’s tongue, tooth and gum

Some familiar runes will this way come.

754 words
***

         Good enough for now. Post. - Amorella

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