0947 hours.
Today the focus is on Brothers 5, though I skimmed it yesterday or the day
before I do not have a clue what it is about this morning. Outside though the
leaves continue yellowing. We have very little red leaves in the yard or in the
park. Sugar maples have the best colors but with the death of so many ash trees
the red leaves are way down. Cloudy yesterday for the most part and it is
starting out gloomy today also.
After noon. The gloom continues but you had
a two-hour nap in the meantime. You have two chores this afternoon, one, voting
early as you will be in Florida, and two, getting your flu shots also why you
are up in the county seat, Lebanon. – I am waiting, you appear not to have
anything to say. – Amorella
1252 hours. Nothing on my mind,
Amorella.
What pops up is “satisfaction”. I felt it
roll up into consciousness. I sensed the word roll up, small to medium
wave-like from my right and the back of my brain. I have a map of this some place, a
map that Diplomat conjured up in book two or three.
Check
it out. – Amorella
I have written of it two or three
times before. I don’t see any sense on belaboring the once intuitive point. – Now I
sit here drawing connections that don’t exist.
Don’t you find this interesting? Why would
you do that, look for connections that don’t exist? – Amorella
1308 hours. I don’t know. It is all
rather foolish, come to think of it.
Post. - Amorella
Carol fell asleep. Time to head back,
orndorff, post when the circumstances allow. - Amorella
1549
hours. We voted and received our flu shots – the pharmacies do not have the
high or the quatro doses so we were left with the regular. At least they were
paid for by Aetna-Medicare. We were first in line at both places so we picked a
good time to go.
Late lunch at Panera/Chipotle and a stop at
Kroger’s on Tylersville for bananas, skim milk and band-aids, then home to drop
off groceries and then for a walk at Pine Hill Lakes and reading in the car
after. The sun is coming out more and more so it looks like a pleasant rest of
the afternoon. – Amorella
You
are near the central crossroads of Rose Hill and the sky has re-clouded. Carol
is on page 50 (Chapter Seven) of Grisham’s The Racketeer. You are more
than half way through Brothers Five. Many a tree in this old cemetery that you
once thought came to life (a momentary apparition styled event late one night)
as you watched while driving south on Mason-Montgomery Road.
The
title of these new books is titled Great Merlyn’s Ghost for a reason, boy. As I
see to it that these words as average as they are, would not be written any
other way if you were dead at this moment. This is significant, more so than
you might think. If you were alone, a dead spirit in a sanctuary of your own
existential heartansoulanmind self, you would write quite similar words as you
are now. The thoughts come from the place where heartansoulanmind touch not
from your physical self. You already know this, of course, that is, you feel
this is indeed a truth and you can accept it even though you are an honest enough
agnostic. In a way, in a sleight of humor, you write from your own gallows boy.
It makes no difference if the reader believes this or not; not one iota of
difference. You write from solid ground no matter how imperfect the writing
might be. This is the spice that makes these works ghost stories first. Who
else but Amorella could write these words and have them above suspect? No one.
Such is the delight of a reality even old Plato could shake a stick at – no capital
needed and none to be heeded. It’s Halloween time, boy. What does your inner
human spirit think on this? – Amorella
1704
hours. You tease my imagination Amorella because you can. The words draw a
smile be they true or not, but deep down I sense the truth is so within my own
ghostly framework. I am a transcendental existentialist by my own definition.
As such I cannot fault with your words here but most of all, I see a humor un-cornered
and not any more improbable than all life scrambled within these four known
dimensions. There is nothing spooky about what is more natural than our own
probabilities.
You
had left over meat loaf sandwiches for supper, watched the news, the new “Person
of Interest” and a third “Blacklist”. Carol retired upstairs to read and after
you drop in Brothers Five you are thinking about watching tonight’s “Revolution”
before bed. Add and post. – Amorella
***
(final) The
Brothers 5 ©2013,rho for GMG.One
Robert
and Richard walked west on Walnut down to the end of Grove Street and left
crossed into the north entrance and oldest section of John Knox College
Cemetery. The oldest of the marker noted trees, one of which that has been
officially estimated to be over four hundred years old, topped the hill
overlooking the river.
I
have known these gravestones since I was a small child, thought Richard as he
and Robert walked the narrow tar and stone chipped cemetery road south off the
end of Grove Street. The stone and stained glass mausoleum stood straight
ahead. Glancing ahead he asked, “Do you remember the size of this place?”
Robert
grinned, “Sixty by eighty feet, something like that.”
“That’s
pretty good. Rob. I do know it has about three hundred crypts.”
“I’d
forgotten that. It’s a pretty good sized building in relationship to the
cemetery.”
“Particularly
this old cemetery section,” commented Richard. At the large steel and stained
glass door both hand cupped their eyes so they could peer the fifty-six feet to
the beautiful piece of stained glass in the mausoleum’s south wall. Between
that wall and themselves are square oriented central hall pillars separating
the first bank, second and third banks of crypts to the east and west sides. A
wooden podium stands center just in front of the south wall’s stained glass
blues, yellows and greens. On either side of the podium are Doric columns. The
entire interior is a white and gray Vermont marble.
Richard
backed from the door as he said, “I’ve got the key. The city service department
loaned it to me.”
Robert
gleamed in surprise, “We haven’t been inside here for an age. Good show, bro.”
“No,
we haven’t. I want to see our great grandparents’ crypts and take some
pictures.”
“For
your book?”
“No,
no pictures in the book. However, when I was studying the history of the place
I discovered something.”
“What’s
that?”
He
pointed, “There are symbols of the world’s seven great religions.”
“I
didn’t know that.”
Richard
turned the key, “Neither did I.”
“Wait,”
suggested Robert. “Let’s go around the outside first. Remember how we pretended
this was a great ancient artifact when we were kids?”
“Here
we are in our seventies and the place still looks like something out of the
first Indiana Jones movie.”
“Look
at those massive limbs. This could have been a hanging tree,” commented Robert.
“I
don’t think it ever was though,” noted Richard. He pointed down the hill. “We
used to play along here.”
“Good
guys versus the bad guys.” Robert’s smile dissipated. “We didn’t really know
much difference back then.”
“Nope,”
responded Richard, “Playing was just fun. We still have the sky above, stones, trees
and grass, and the Dead below. This place was always good for philosophizing.”
He continued, “when you look at an aerial picture of the cemetery from about
fifteen hundred feet, it looks like the bottom of a circuit board.”
“How’s
that?”
“I
downloaded a photo from Google Earth; from that height the tombstones look like
solder joints on the bottom side of an integrated circuit board.” responded
Richard.
“What’s
the point, Richie? Cemeteries and circuit boards are all man made.”
“I
know that, Robbie,” quipped Richard. “But thinking about the pattern of the
cemetery from the air is interesting."
“Robert
chuckled, “Richie,” he paused appropriately, “Is your analogy to make coffins
somehow transistors that create a natural radio station from the Dead?”
Richard
ignored the comment and said, “Maybe the placements of stones and trees makes
this a naturally haunted place? I’m making an assessment for the book here. The
circuit board analogy is something I think a modern Merlyn might agree with.”
"The
Living and the Dead complete a circuit at the cemetery; pretty good,
Dickie." Robert rolled his eyes up and to the left remarking, "When
we were kids old people used to tell us this cemetery is haunted. Now they are
all dead.”
“Good
one, Rob.” Rob always has the good one liner, thought Richard. Sharp as a
scalpel he used to hold in his right hand.
Neither
had a word for a few moments.
“I’ll
be in here before you are,” deadpanned Robert.
“Yep,”
mirrored Richard, “You always try to be first.”
711
words
***
2213 hours. Again, tonight, I was looking at an
old posting in which I call myself an existential transcendentalist. That was
on 4 August 2011. Yet in yesterday’s posting I call myself a transcendental
existentialist. I remember stopping a half second to think which I wanted. It
seemed right at the moment. Evidence shows I am either sloppy or change my
mind.
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