Shortly after noon. When you awoke Carol was
already working on the wood chip piles that need to be torn down from the tree
grindings more than a month ago. You helped some.. Breakfast eaten and the
Sunday paper read, you helped some more. Knee problems and a periodic bad back
don't help.
Mid-afternoon. You cleaned up and took Carol
out to Longhorn Steak House for lunch, used your own money saying that she
always buys everything; then she reminded you that she is using a joint
account, but you don't see it that way because you gave all the money to her
years ago (exception: she pays half when you buy a new computer). Otherwise you
would feel guilty spending any money on 'toys', which your MacAir is to you. -
Amorella
1505 hours. My MacAir is like someone buying golf clubs for herorhimself
or a membership to a golf club. I could never do that. We don't have money to
burn, and even if we did, it wouldn't seem right spending on something that
unnecessary even though Carol has suggested I take up golf. Let's move on to
something more important. I get tired of seeing myself think on next to
nothing.
Your books and blogs are next to nothing. -
Amorella
I knew this was coming. I could feel it when I put a period next to my
last thought. You are right; thoughts are so next to nothing that they are free
to think.
Why don't we begin Brothers 21 once again
and use this as the starter. Let's rearrange the setting. We'll do it here.
*** ***
The Brothers 21 ©2013 rho
Second
Draft + 500 or so words of 700+
Richard and
Robert are sitting in the morning shade on a bench in Riverton watching traffic
and people move through the busy Uptown intersection of State and College.
Richard always liked this corner from where he could see one of his favorite boyhood
places, the old State Movie Theatre grandly lit marquee, a place of early
escape. Robert never was a movie fan, thought Richard.
Rob's
boyhood took in bound textbook-like words to carve a life based on what human
reality is, the physical body. Richard liked the adventurous photographs in Life as much as words of daring and
diversion. Rob became a cardiothoracic surgeon and I became a professor of
literature. We are still living nearby in our hometown, but identically twin
bodies do not identical twin minds make, considered Richard. He glanced across
the street waiting to see Cyndi and Connie emerge from Schneider's Bakery with
four small cups of coffee and four fresh and tasty white cream-filled doughnuts
topped with a layer of chocolate icing. "Let's move on to something else,
Rob, I'm tired of thinking and talking about money."
Rob
tapped his brother's shoulder, which was within easy distance and replied,
"Talking and thinking are two different things, my man." Rob's
thoughts had been interrupted. He was studying a new poem in his head and the
theatre marquee had got him to thinking if he should change a word or two. In
clear and exact memory he had been focusing on the presentation.
***
L
I L L I A N
G I S H
News:
senseless beyond the deadline,
prisoner
to a here and now,
reports
any hearsay, the current heresies.
She:
its quick legend in catchwords,
memorable
as a persistent comet is memorable,
Old
light of whom reaches us years later.
She
is Beatrice: graceful frames of spirit;
comet
to fixed star; sister to star
forms
through whom travelers know --
earth
as Diana, child of wild things,
gathering
broken blossoms with voice of arms
in
the first light a chaste lover brings;
fire
as Athena, eyes flashing with battle-charm,
holds
our souls, fragile as daylight, through the night,
breaking
the dark air of harm;
water
as Venus, love's strong voice of light,
laughing
with the long hair of waves gently bearing
the
sea-worn swells of doubt from every lover's eyes;
air
as Mary, sensuous truth as heroine,
whose
dark lips of pure fire melt that elemental
cold
of pretense in the frightened soul of hope.
Child
to woman to spirit of silent grace,
from
way down east rising with the northern sun,
always
new, the unforgettable faces of Lillian Gish.
•••
Richard
asked, "What were you thinking about in such deep concentration?"
"Lillian
Gish. The marquee got me thinking about her." He stopped; then, "The
girls have been in the bakery for sixteen minutes."
"She
started in the silent movies. I think she's dead now. What about Lillian
Gish?"
"Her
unforgettable faces. She died in 1993. Wait, here they come. The restaurant's
not open yet. Let's meet them at the tables across the street." - 506 words
***
This
is a good place to stop so you can complete your research on Lillian Gish in
Wikipedia. Drop it in here (as you don't remember much about her at the
moment). - Amorella
** **
Lillian Diana Gish
(October 14, 1893 – February 27, 1993) was an American stage, screen and television actress, director and
writer whose film-acting career spanned 75 years, from 1912 to 1987. Gish was
called The First Lady of American Cinema.
She was a prominent
film star of the 1910s and 1920s, particularly associated with the films of
director D. W. Griffith, including her leading role in one of the highest
grossing films of the era Griffith's seminal Birth of a Nation (1915). Her sound-era film appearances were
sporadic, but included well-known roles in the controversial western Duel in the Sun (1946) and the offbeat
thriller Night of the Hunter (1955).
She did considerable television work from the early 1950s into the 1980s, and
closed her career playing, for the first time, opposite Bette Davis in the 1987
film The Whales of August.
Lillian
Gish, 1921 (Wiki)
Honors
The American Film
Instituet (AFI) named Gish 17th among the greatest female stars of all time.
She was awarded an Honorary Academy Award in 1971, and in 1984 she received an
AFI Life Achievement Award. Gish, an American icon, was also awarded in the
Kennedy Center Honors.
Early
Life
Gish was born in Springfield, Ohio to
18-year-old Mary Robinson McConnell (1875-1948) (an Episcopalian) and James
Leigh Gish (1872-1912) (who was of German Lutheran descent). She had a younger
sister, Dorothy.
The first several generations of Gishes
were Dunkard ministers. Her great-great-great-grandfather came to America on
the ship Pennsylvania Merchant in 1733 and received a land grant from
William Penn. Her great-great-grandfather was in the American Revolutionary War
and is buried in a cemetery in Pennsylvania for such soldiers. Letters between
Gish and a Pennsylvania college professor indicate that her knowledge of her
family background was limited.
Gish's father left the family before she
was old enough to remember him; her mother then took up acting to support the
family. The family moved to East St. Louis, Illinois, where they lived for
several years with Lillian's aunt and uncle, Henry and Rose McConnell. Their
mother opened the Majestic Candy Kitchen and the girls helped sell popcorn and
candy to patrons of the old Majestic Theater, located next door. The girls
attended St. Henry's School, where they acted in school plays.
The girls were living with their aunt
Emily in Massillon, Ohio, when they were notified by their uncle that their
father, James, was gravely ill in Oklahoma. Lillian traveled to Shawnee,
Oklahoma, to see her father, who by then was institutionalized in an Oklahoma
City hospital. She saw him briefly and stayed with her aunt and uncle, Alfred
Grant and Maude Gish, in Shawnee and attended school there. She wrote to her
sister Dorothy that she was thinking of staying and finishing high school and
then going to college, but she missed her family. Her father died in Norman,
Oklahoma, January 9, 1912, and, soon after, Lillian returned to Ohio.
When the theater where the candy store
was burned down, the family moved to New York, where the girls became good
friends with a next door neighbor, Gladys Smith. Gladys was a child actress who
did some work for director D.W. Griffith and later took the stage name Mary
Pickford. When Lillian and Dorothy were old enough, they joined the theatre,
often traveling separately in different productions. They also took modeling
jobs.
In 1912, their friend
Mary Pickford introduced the sisters to D. W. Griffith, and helped get them
contracts with Biograph Studios. Lillian Gish would soon become one of
America's best-loved actresses. Although she was already nineteen, she gave her
age as 16 to the studio.
Personal
Life
Gish never married or had children. The
association between Gish and D. W. Griffith was so close that some suspected a
romantic connection, an issue never acknowledged by Gish, although several of
their associates were certain they were at least briefly involved. For the
remainder of her life, she always referred to him as "Mr. Griffith."
Lillian Gish was the sister of actress Dorothy Gish.
She [Lillian] was involved with producer
Charles Duell and drama critic and editor George Jean Nathan. In the 1920s,
Gish's association with Duell was something of a tabloid scandal because he had
sued her and made the details of their relationship public.
During the period of political turmoil in
the US that lasted from the outbreak of WWII in Europe until the attack on
Pearl Harbor, she maintained an outspoken non-interventionist stance. She was
an active member of the America First Committee, an anti-intervention
organization founded by retired General Robert E. Wood with aviation pioneer
Charles Lindbergh as its leading spokesman. She said she was blacklisted by the
film and theater industries until she signed a contract in which she promised
to cease her anti-interventionist activities and never disclose the fact that
she had agreed to do so.
She maintained a very
close relationship with her sister Dorothy, as well as with Mary Pickford, for
her entire life. Another of her closest friends was actress Helen Hayes; Gish
was the godmother of Hayes' son James MacArthur.
Death
She died in her sleep
of natural causes, age 99, and is interred beside her sister Dorothy at Saint
Bartholomew's Episcopal Church in New York City. Her estate, which she left to
Hayes (who died a month later) was valued at several million dollars, and went
to provide prizes for artistic excellence.
Edited from Wikipedia
** **
Now, what do you think so far, young
man? - Amorella
I
think of my friend Bob Pringle and how (without any forethought) I just copied his poem from our
2003 unpublished but titled: "Take Two!! {Split/Personalities}"
Richard Orndorff and Robert Pringle." Bob died of kidney failure two years
ago this month. -- Below are the relevantly edited blog posts near and
through Bob's death date.
***
** 28 August 2011 - Notes -
Dedication and Requiem
Your soul is closing you in by
degrees, like your transitional lenses, orndorff. Even on earth the soul offers
a degree of protection to soften the ensuing reality of this week’s final
conclusion. People sometimes become confused when they are seeing a loved one,
a friend or family, for the last time. No need to be, boy. You have always been
honest with Bob, no need to change that for politeness. Grief wells up. You
both are captains of your own ships, so to speak. It’s a large ocean still, Bob
has steered to port side while you have a ways to go. A shake of hands and a
figurative salute with words will do. He would expect nothing more or nothing
less from what you know of the man. Different ports of call, that’s all. Post,
when you arrive home. – Amorella.
I appreciate the clarification, Amorella. Thank you for the existential
perspective, it is a solid base to reason for me.
The existential perspective
is heartansoulanmind, son. At this point the rest might as well be metaphor. –
Amorella.
***
The Rebellion [Now, Great Merlyn's Ghost] is dedicated to my
brother poet:
Thomas Robert Pringle
We two are twin-like brothers in
soul and mind,
Our hearts, like shadows, are set on
parallel paths;
Our bodies molded us with different
keels.
Ship-like and Captains, we have
steered similar waters
In search of words for that great
magnificent White.
Similar sails, same waters, salt and
fresh alike.
Sailing, we caught top winds with
dignity.
In courage and humility you set your
sail portside;
I sail on; rudder straight set for
now.
Two different ports of call we go,
that’s all.
Solid land will be what it is on
that day,
Life will become a metaphor to heartansoulanmind
We wave good-bye in peace and good
cheer,
I love you dear Robert,
In the greater reality of the
humanity,
In my heartansoulanmind.
Land lubbers we all will one day be
Thankful to finally shake a leg on
solid ground,
Thus say I, Richard, while on these
rolling waters.
***
***
Requiem
Keep thy eyes, Robert, a-bright and
gleaming, say I, Amorella,
“To the starboard green, my man, to
the starboard green.”
In Chaucer’s immortal ghost I hand
thee these lines,
So similar you are to a true Chaucerian
hero:
A clerk ther was of oxenford also,
That unto logyk hadde longe ygo.
As leene was his hors as is a rake,
And he nas nat right fat, I
undertake,
But looked holwe, and therto
sobrely.
Ful thredbare was his overeste
courtepy;
For he hadde geten hym yet no
benefice,
Ne was so worldly for to have
office.
For hym was levere have at his
beddes heed
Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reed,
Of aristotle and his philosophie,
Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay
sautrie.
But al be that he was a philosophre,
Yet hadde he but litel gold in
cofre;
But al that he myghte of his
freendes hente,
On bookes and on lernynge he it
spente,
And bisily gan for the soules preye
Of hem that yaf hym wherwith to
scoleye.
Of studie took he moost cure and
moost heede,
Noght o word spak he moore than was
neede,
And that was seyd in forme and
reverence,
And short and quyk and ful of hy
sentence;
Sownynge in moral vertu was
his speche,
And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly
teche
***
The above is how it
will be two pages in dedication. Post, and see Robert has a copy of these
tomorrow with best of cheer and little sorrow. – Amorella.
** 29 August 2011 - Notes - Amen
You said your private
good-bye to Bob and he to you.
Yes.
You look for words
that are unnecessary. Patti said you could inform mutual friends. You had not
because you wanted to check with her first. Patti also said there would be no
funeral, that there may be a memorial service later in September after you
arrive back, but she said she is unsure at present.
I dreaded the idea I was going to miss the funeral so I was thankful
there would not be one. Bob’s decision, I’m sure. I like it. I don’t want a
funeral either. People have their lives – they can mourn in private. Bob said
he would be cremated and Patti said he has a quote from Yeats that he wants on
the cup holding the cremains. No burial. I can accept that too, though as we
have plots I would like a small stone following that of my parents’ in law who
we will be ‘resting’ next to us. I would still like the “Mostly Fiction” but in
reality that probably won’t happen. This event sobers up my fantasy on the
subject.
Bob had talked his decision over with the
family after he discover there were pitfalls in the back surgery he was to have
today. Patti said he was ‘empowered’ by his decision to stop all hospital
operations and come home to die in peace. She said it has helped to restore his
dignity. This I could see. No more slight shrug of the shoulder when another
trip to the hospital was in order. He may have a couple more days, but when we
talked he apologized for his intermediate focus from time to time. We said our
good-byes and he drifted off to sleep. Twenty some years since the kidney
transplant that allowed for his continued life. Much has happened in those
years – with family, children and grandchildren. We had our adventures also.
Patti said as we were leaving, “You were there with us at the first.” I was as
Bob’s best man at their wedding. It is sad, but everyone in the family in
comfortable with Bob’s decision, a conscious act of dignity as to how and when
he should leave this place. Bob has no regrets, and neither do I. Amen.
Good. You stumbled on
to the addition, the “Amen,” but humanity needs an “Amen” once in a while as a
reminder of how things are in the real world. Post when you return home. No
more today. “Amen,” is a good caption. Go with it. – Amorella.
** 31 August 2011 - Notes - a
sudden jolt
On the last night in this August your
thought are to your friend Bob and you wonder how he is. Is he alive? Is he
conscious? You have wanted to call Patti but have not as you feel it is a
private time for the family. You are reflecting on what Patti said as you left
when you told her your Dedication was on sailing. She was surprised and said,
Bob, just gave me the [line, or] lines he wants on his urn; words from Yeats’
“Sailing to Byzantium”. You want to include the poem here as a further
remembrance of your friend. You have not lost a friend of this caliber before.
Your heart is as the somber country church bell striking; the one that (in your
unconscious imagination) touched the ears of John Donne and tweaked his cause
to write “Meditation 17”.
I did not realize the unconscious mind might have a sense of imagination.
Raises the ante,
doesn’t it. – Amorella.
It is a speculation that would answer a lot of personal questions. What
an idea, an unconscious imagination.
What about the
unconscious mind ‘toying’ with the conscious imagination, does that sound more
realistic? - Amorella.
Speculation only, Amorella. I don’t think
it is probable.
What am I doing here
but toying your imagination? – Amorella.
Point taken, Amorella. Such a sense of
wit. Amazing. And, Yeats, the crafty animal he was shows wit also. Wit open to
interpretation. Time for me to shut my mind and reflect.
** **
“Sailing to the Byzantium”
By William Butler Yeats
THAT is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
***
The poem gives you a
sudden jolt, young lad. Didn’t expect that did you? Post. We are done for the
day. – Amorella.
** 01 September 2011 - Notes - A
Good Death
Mid-morning. You were returning home from
running last minute errands when Patti called to say Bob passed away peacefully
last night. An hour before daughter Susan put on a new CD of music and he did
not move other than to give her a thumbs up. This was about the time you added
the [last night's] poem and within the hour posted it. Now you wonder what the
‘jolt’ was, was it something with Yeats’ poem or was it Bob's [spirit] passing
by?
This is conjecture or at the most
coincidence, Amorella. I like to think it is a kind hopeful thought at the very
least and let it go at that. What a relief to be out of that worn body of his.
I am glad he is at peace. And, as always, I wish him the best. Our [upcoming]
trip to Maine will not be so nearly memorable as his to “solid ground”.
Alas, the thoughts
are for you now, boy. A good place to think, “Give unto Caesar what is Caesar’s
and give unto G---D what is His,” as a metaphor, of course.
I would not accept this as anything less as a metaphor.
For this you have good reason. Post.
No more today. – Amorella. Title this A Good Death and begin to let it go from
mind to heart where it will settle in comfort. – Amorella.
** ** **
1744 hours. I am pondering today's
blog posting. You said I would have a manifestation in Brothers 21. Some would
say this is nothing but a self-fulfilling prophecy. It is not. These thoughts
and considerations are raised from the heart and soul not the mind, least of
all, the mind. This all came about while writing the post, while writing [and
documenting this new draft] Brothers 21 on the post not on its own document no
less. In less than a conscious flash of memory of "Take Two".
1800
hours. Tim and Ben King, our neighbors took the Body-Solid Home Gym off our
hands tonight. -- An hour later we had supper with each of us having two ears
of delicious corn on the cob among boxed leftovers from lunch at Longhorn's. Then
we relaxed watching the national news. Carol is now watching one of her DVRed
shows and I will finish one of mine after.
** ** **
We will complete Brothers 21 tomorrow.
I will conclude this by returning
to the post of 16 August 2013:
** **
You
had a better than good day as you had hoped. You are thinking there is little
to really write about in Brothers 21 other than the same sorts of
thoughts/dialogue that have been seen in the other twenty chapter segments. The
original concludes with something that most everyone knows, that pets are
easier to love than people are. What you are looking for is some sort of
manifestation. - Amorella
2156
hours. As usual I feel better with a definition before I comment. One would
think I know what words mean, but I like the clarity of a definition for a
foundation; besides, I see below that the word has a variety of meanings.
** **
manifestation - noun
1 the
manifestation of anxiety: display,
demonstration, show, exhibition, presentation.
2 manifestations
of global warming: sign,
indication, evidence, token, symptom, testimony, proof,
substantiation, mark, reflection, example, instance.
3 a
supernatural manifestation: apparition,
appearance, materialization, visitation.
From -
Oxford-American software
** **
Amorella,
I was hoping for some sort of manifestation, but now that I see the meaning
with greater clarity I don't think it would be a good idea. First, I cannot
imagine any demonstration or presentation that would be applicable. Second,
what sign; what proof; what reflection can I use, particularly in a fiction?
Third, why do I show an apparition or visitation in The Brothers 21? (2233)
From - 16 August posting
** ** **
2039
hours. I did not in any way expect today's experience. I don't know what else
to say other than I have witnessed this sort of experience with Amorella as my
guide many times over the years. When I re-read Bob's work he is as here in my
consciousness. He is the heartansoulanmind of Bob Pringle I knew and still
know. This is my humanity writing. As long as I am here, and even perhaps
longer, it is a truth of the nature of what it is to be human. - rho
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