Breakfast and the paper. There will be errands and chores today,
grass mowing for one if it dries out enough. You checked on Grandma Eighteen
and found it is 3404 words and you wonder how you are going to cut this one
down. This is where you are. - Amorella
You
are waiting in the car for Carol as you are going off to the accountant's
office to drop off what remains of tax material on past IRA's and Roth IRA's.
Then lunch in Kenwood area is assumed. You are ready to begin 'cutting' Grandma
17, but I'll do this. First, we will bold only the parts worth keeping. Do not
erase anything. Then we'll copy and transfer the bold print and begin work,
that way context will be easily identifiable. - Amorella
1318 hours. This work is completed. There are still 1800 or so
words.
We can work from this. Later, dude. Carol is
coming. - Amorella
***
Grandma 17 early working draft
Bloodlines
were important to the Royals of Europe and to their national identities of
politics and power. This legendary bloodline traces back twelve generations to
Pharamond, King of Westphalia, who died in the common year four hundred and
thirty. This is the same King Pharamond who is about to fall in love with
Argotta Genebald of the East Franks.
The
traditional bloodline goes back much, much further, fifty-one generations
removed from Charlemagne, you have a very great grandfather by the name of
Laomedon whose son becomes King Priam of Troy. This is the famous City of Troy
many know through the story-telling by Homer. By the sixty-first generation removed
from the famous Holy Roman Emperor, Charlemagne, you are back to Sarah and
Abraham and G-d’s promise of a better world.
Everybody adjusts to change. Earth ain’t any
different than you are. Keep that in mind. You’re built out of the same
subatomic stuff. It’s one of the rules. Don’t want anyone getting too high and
mindy, you see. Me either. I knows who I am. I knows my place. And Grandma
ain’t built to be no slave and you human beings who have a bit of Grandma in
you ain’t either.
Grandma took a moment to get a wink in,
Grandma’s in your bones, dear reader. Ain’t nothing ever been thought of that
Grandma don’t already know about, particularly when it comes to sex. In here
though there are other kinds of love, more esoteric. But don’t you be fooled
none, child. There’s the thin, thin line, and you don’t have to put your finger
on it to know it’s available. Particularly when you are a king or a potential
queen as these two are.
Here is a forest
clearing. Princess Argotta of the East Franks sits on the trunk of a large
walnut tree and faces east. King Pharamond wishes to sit beside her, but under
the circumstances, which he finds awkward, he must instead sit on the oak log,
facing west, towards her.
I am attracted to all
that I see of this young woman flows the king’s mind. Beauty, but not beyond
compare. What is behind those eyes of hers that I know already? I knew this
woman before we ever met. Is it destiny? Is it fate? How do I know her from
before I was born? Is it possible? Can I deny what I understand because I
cannot explain it? Is it morally right to deny what I understand because I
cannot explain it? She sits as a sister, a mother, a lover, a friend. All of
these relationships at once, yet I hardly know her well enough to ask her to
marry me.
I have not yet told her I love her in words or
in action. She knows though. She knows me from the inside out. Somehow she met
my fleshless bones first. Then she popped out of my eyes when we were formally
introduced. This is how I see the situation. First, I must tell her I love her,
and second, I must ask for her hand in marriage, a marriage already secretly
approved of. I will not marry her though is she does not wish it. She is a
princess and perhaps a queen.
The constant muddle of
politics and religion, religion and politics. A muddle that was shortly making
mud of Frankish Gaul. Again such thoughts and rumors of thoughts whispered in
the mind of King Pharamond as he attempt to focus on telling Princess Argotta
of his pure love for her before asking for her independent hand in marriage.
The male is first, he thought, this is as
decreed, but when there is no male then the female is first. I am the male
here, but as I sit and muse on the surroundings I sense that in my need to
focus, this female, Princess Argotta, is first even though I am present.
The true
alchemist studies not how to make gold from lead but how to combine particular
metals and transform them to something else, such as copper and iron to make
bronze. I think it might be true of kings too. Marriage may create a
transformation of who the king thinks he is now, into who he may become when he
is transformed.
The king is glancing
at the scenery. This is a beautiful place in the forest. What should I say?
Should I wait until he speaks? It seems only polite to do so. I don’t know why
he wants me to be his walking companion in the forest? There are plenty of
others. He has not made any advancements for which I am grateful. I appear to
be the handle of the sword. The king is the point and the sharp double edges. I
am no flat of the blade though. That is for marriage only. He can exchange
blade handles easily enough, and appears to do so. I am grateful to be a blade
handle.
The king is going to speak. Politics and
religion are both boring. I would rather speak of music. Harmonies exist in the
marriage of metals and exist here in the woods too. I can feel them. I should
be anxious at his silence, but strangely, I am not.
I wonder why we
needn’t talk. I usually feel the need to speak, to break the silence of the
moment. It is the job of a Princess to speak out. Others need to know what to
do. Someone has to instruct them.
“We haven’t seen the
owl today,” said King Pharamond.
“No, we haven’t
m’lord. He is being secretive as you are, m’lord.”
She tried to smile through the horror of
speaking on such a personal level.
“You
are beautiful when your cheeks are red, my Princess Argotta,” he replied. I
should tell her now. I should tell her that I love her so she knows. I shall
see if she is understanding. That she doesn’t misinterpret my motive. Then I
shall ask her to marry me at this private moment. She may decline, and I tell
her she is free to do so. Argotta must always be free. I must always be free
also. Otherwise, it is a prisondom made for a king.
Something is troubling him. It must be my
family, the East Franks. Maybe he wants to know what my father is thinking, or
my brothers or uncle. I cannot be a spy to my own. Surely he wouldn’t ask it of
me, but I have heard of kings requesting worse. What judgment is on his mind
that he would ask me anyway if it did not have to do with my family? My
brothers or my father or uncle? He would not expect me to know of anything else
but family. I shall surprise him while he deliberates.
Princess
Argotta smiled pleasant as she looked across to Pharamond. “M’king, did you
know I am skilled in the art of blacksmithing?”
Pharamond
laughed, “I did not, m’lady. I had no idea. Where did you learn the arts?”
“My
father, the king. He is skilled in the old arts.”
“I
did not know.”
“Yes,
and he taught me when he found I was interested. I have made a sword with my
own hands, m’lord,” Argotta said proudly.
“I
did not know,” smiled Pharamond more warmly. “And, your father, he is of the
old ways? I consider him a follower of the Bishop of Rome.”
“That
he is, and so am I. We do not agree with the Visigoth tribes to the south. We
accept Jesus as God. I understand they question this.”
“True,”
said the king. “The people have doubts as to the fact that Jesus is God.”
Without
thinking or even flinching, Argotta immediately replied, “It is not a fact,
m’lord.”
Pharamond
was taken back but had the skills not to show it. Instead he asked her straight
on as if she were a man and equal,
“What do you mean, m’Princess Argotta?”
This
tone of the king took Argotta by complete surprise. Her eyes darted to the
sides and almost rolled back, but it happened so quickly she was not
consciously aware of it. “You cannot doubt a fact, m’lord,” she countered.
Again
the king smiled and hoped his sense of her cleverness did not show. “You are
skilled in the academics also, I see.”
“Of
course, m’lord, what would you expect of a princess?”
Without
further thought King Pharamond blurted, “I would like you to be my queen, if
you so desire it also. You will always be free to verbally respond to me as a
man would respond, m’Princess Argotta. In public and in private.”
“This
is not the Catholic way, m’lord.”
“In
private we each are not the Catholics we are in public. This I can see. We have
more in common than I suspected.”
“We
do, m’lord,” answered Argotta. She smiled in a way her face was not accustomed
to. Embarrassment and shyness was absent. “I shall respond to you by noon
tomorrow, my kind king,” she added.
“You
know I love you,” said Pharamond without a conscious thought. He further
compliment himself as well as her by saying, “I have always loved you.”
Princess
Argotta stood and took a step towards the king. She knelt automatically and
drew her right hand forth as if it held an invisible and magic sword, “You may
kiss my hand, kind sir. We have always loved one another, m’lord. I think we
loved one another before either of us was born.”
The
king stood and as he held her hand he bent down and tenderly kissed it, then
stood again. Neither said a word. Shortly both headed on the path. Neither
needed to glance to herorhis side to know the other was walking in the same
stride.
That’s
your Grandma’s story this time. The rest is as they say, history, and by the
time you take the people and events and roll them into a bound package, there’s
some storytelling festering on the edges of those fonts in place I’ll tell you.
The alphabet comes marching in as words that parade high and mighty as
paragraphs, and it’s easy for a person to lose sight of the humanity that has
been squeezed in the process.
The tongue
written in symbols is easily bent
To mean
one thing and say another;
The
thoughts within are easily sent
The
thoughts within can easily smother.
Old
Grandma knows which way it goes
Along the
path petal-filled with rose;
Hand in
hand from solitary Eden left
The
ancient story of Eve and Adam bereft.
But in the
shadows the two are walking still
Wherever
new love appears upon the hill;
And from beneath your Grandma’s toothy
gums
Merlyn’s future in a pouch text comes.
***
Post,
boy. - Amorella
Below are the Geneaologies of Argotta and Pharamond.
** **
Queen Argotta
of East "Rosamunde" Franks aka av Friesland, de
Thuringia
Born
about 0369 in Franks
Daughter of
Genebald of East Franks II and Amalagerge d' Ostrogothe
Wife of
Pharamond of Franks — married [date unknown] in Nordrhein-Westfalen, Germany
Mother of
King Clodion of France
Died about 0438 in Westphalia
(Nordrhein-Westfalen), Prussia, Germany
Edited from: Wikitree.com
** **
** **
Pharamond /
Faramund, King of the Franks at Cologne (c.370 - c.430)
Nicknames: "Faramund",
"Pharamand", "Pharamond", "Pharamund",
"Guermond", "Warmond"
Birthdate: circa 370
Birthplace: Nordrhein-Westfalen,
Bundesrepublik Deutschland
Death: Died 430 in Westfalen, Germany
Occupation: 1st King of the
Franks at Cologne - 428 - c.430
From: geni.com
** **
Grandma 17, ©2013, rho, completed draft
This
is Grandma. Bloodlines were important to the Royals of Europe and to their
national identities of politics and power. This legendary bloodline traces to
Pharamond, King of Westphalia, who died in four hundred and thirty. King
Pharamond is about to declare his love to Argotta Genebald of the East Franks.
Grandma
took a moment to get a wink in. I'm in your bones. Ain’t nothing ever been
thought that Grandma don’t already know about -- love, for instance. In here
though there are many kinds of love. But don’t you be fooled none. Love's a
thin, thin line, and you don’t have to put your finger on it to know when it’s
available. This is particularly true when you are a king and a potential queen
as these two are.
Here we are in a forest clearing. Princess Argotta of the East
Franks sits on the trunk of a large fallen walnut tree and faces east. King
Pharamond wishes to sit beside her, but under the circumstance, he sits on a
smaller oak log facing her.
Pharamond thinks (in this time of muddled and muddy politics and
religion) -- I am attracted to all that I see -- beauty, but not beyond
compare. Argotta sits as a friend, a lover, and a mother; yet most important,
as I muse she sits a princess. First, I must tell her I love her, and second, I
must ask for her hand in marriage, a marriage already secretly approved of.
Should I wait until he speaks, thinks Princess Argotta? It seems
only polite to do so. I don’t know why he wants me to be his walking companion
in this forest? He has not made any advancement for which I am grateful. I
appear to be the handle of the sword. The king is the point and he is sharply
double edged. I am no flat of the blade though. I can exchange a blade handle
easily enough. Harmonies exist in a marriage of royal metal. Odd to have such a
quick thrusted thought to feel. I should a shield for his silence, but now,
strangely, I do not care for one. I usually feel the need to speak. It is the
job of a Princess to speak her mind. Others need to know what to do. I am built
to instruct.
“We haven’t seen the owl today,” said King Pharamond.
“No, we haven’t milord.”
“You
are beautiful when your cheeks are red, my Princess Argotta,” disclosed the
king.
She
smiled pleasantly while as she looking to Pharamond. She said, “M’king, did you
know I am skilled in the art of blacksmithing?”
Pharamond
laughed from of the unexpected, “I did not, m’Lady. I had no idea. Where did
you learn the arts?”
“My
father, the king. He is skilled in the old arts.”
“I
did not know.” . . . along with what other secrets, he thought.
She
stood, straight and ancestrally proud, “Yes, when he discovered I was
interested in the arts he taught me. I have created a sword with my own hands,
milord,”
“I
did not know,” smiled Pharamond more warmly. “And, your father, he is of the
old ways? I consider him a follower of the Bishop of Rome.”
“That
he is, and so am I. We do not agree with the Visigoth tribes to the south. We
accept Jesus as God. I understand the Visigoth question this.”
“True,”
said the king. “Some people have doubts.”
Without
thinking or even flinching, Argotta immediately replied, “It is not a fact,
milord.”
Momentarily
confused, Pharamond was taken back, “What do you mean, Princess Argotta?”
The
king's unusual tone took Argotta by complete surprise. Her eyes darted side to
side and appeared to roll back because the tone came so quickly, she answered,
“You cannot doubt a fact, milord.”
The
king replied in relief. “You are skilled in the academics also, I see.”
“Of
course, milord. What would you expect of a princess?”
King
Pharamond blurted, “I would like you to be my queen, if you so desire it also.
You will always be free to verbally respond to me as a man would respond,
Princess Argotta. In public and in private.”
“This
is not the Catholic way, milord.”
“In
private we each are not the Catholics we are in public. This I can see. We have
more in common than I suspected.”
“We
do, milord,” answered Argotta as took a step towards the king. She knelt
automatically and drew her right hand forth as if it held an invisible and
magic sword, “You may kiss my hand, King Pharamond.”
Old
Grandma knows which way it goes
Along the
path petal-filled with rose;
Hand in
hand from solitary Eden left
The
ancient story of Eve and Adam bereft.
797 words
***
2118 hours. I had finished
this earlier before we arrived home. The news, last night "The
Mentalist," and "and older "Elementary" were caught up.
The story will do for now. Some tweaking
will be required when you work the semi-final audio draft. Tomorrow the grass
will be mowed and we will begin Pouch 17. - Amorella
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