Mid-morning. It is another arthritic
morning. Take your pain pill, boy, that’s why the doctor prescribed them.
Later. – Amorella
1007
hours. I had a short nap. Carol is getting ready for a Blue Ash Retired
Teachers Luncheon today. Kim called and wants to meet for lunch at Max and
Erma’s just off I-71 one day next week. A former student, Denise, from IHHS
Class of 1979 send me a note showing me a website where I can watch the Earth
live from the space station. Very cool. Here it is for those interested .
Right now the video is in the twilight zone. Fitting, I suppose.
The pill is making you tired. We’ll work on
revising Pouch 2.1 later. Don’t erase, boy.
This is me not your imagination.
Later, dude. Post. – Amorella (Annoying isn’t it?)
Just after noon local time. You completed
your forty minutes of exercises feeling somewhat refreshed, though aching a bit
in ankles, knees, legs, hips, shoulders, arms and lower back. – Amorella
1204
hours. I like to think of it as background noise Amorella and then try not to
think about it at all.
Such as being conscious of the ‘heaviness’
of the background noise, this is apart from your actual body weight. – Amorella
Yes, I
suppose; but I don’t know that heaviness is the right word either; maybe it has
to do with nerve endings – an impression of heaviness – a slight perception of
the body moving about in trunk and extremities – a cooling off.
You had cut up turkey dogs for lunch, two
topped with pepper jack cheese and a Klondike with a Heath bar flavored coating
for dessert. Let’s go through the Pouch 2.1. – Amorella
How was that trip anyway? – Amorella
1349
hours. We didn’t cover it.
Why don’t we do that? – Amorella
This is
fine with me but what about the information in the present chapter?
Take a break orndorff. You want to do too
much which is unneeded. – Amorella
1355
hours. I will have to go back to the last book and make inferences about the
Earthlings learning the culture before leaving and on the trip. I cannot believe
I did not mention this.
Mid-afternoon.
Carol arrived home and wanted an ice cream so off you went. She bought a double
chocolate and you had a caramel gelato in kids’ cups. Presently you are at
Kroger’s on Mason-Montgomery and Carol is buying a loaf of bakery bread for
supper since she already had turkey soup made (which you forgot about). You
have given up an attempt to reason out Pouch 2.1, which makes it easier for me
to move through it. Later, dude. – Amorella
You
have a reading stop at Rose Hill Cemetery before heading home and are sitting
under the heavy shade of an old Oak, appropriate enough for the dreamer,
wouldn’t you say, orndorff? Carol is on page 264 of The Drop, a Harry
Bosch novel by Michael Connelly. – Amorella
1555
hours. Merlyn ought to feel at home I would imagine. I’ll just delete my doc
copy of Pouch and I we’ll start tabula rasa.
You are home and have three hundred and
fifty-eight words written while in the cemetery. While checking your email you
found this in a Discover magazine article then posted it on your Facebook page
as you find it interesting how much we are not conscious of in our own bodies
and wonder then how much else we are not conscious of.
**
**
Our Bodies'
Velocities, By the Numbers
Neural
signals zip through our brains. Cells produce proteins faster than a blink. We
are creatures of varying velocities.
By Bob Berman
“Sorry, I’m busy right now,” you tell a
friend. That’s so true. For its size, your body is as busy as the galaxy.
Even when we’re resting and daydreaming,
internal activity is nonstop. The brain, of course, is the crown jewel of our
nervous system. It has 85 billion neural cells and 150 trillion synapses. These
are its electrical connections, its possibilities. This figure is nearly a
thousand times as great as the number of stars in the Milky Way.
The number of brain neurons is impressive.
To count them at the rate of one a second would require 3,200 years. But the
brain’s synapses, or electrical connections, are beyond belief. Those 150
trillion could be counted in 3 million years. And that’s still not the end of
the matter. What’s relevant is how many ways each cell can connect with the
others. For this we must use factorials. Let’s say we want to know how many
ways we can arrange four books on a shelf. It’s easy: You find the
possibilities by multiplying 4×3×2 — called “4 factorial” and written as 4! —
which is 24. But what if you have 10 books? Easy again: It’s 10! or 10×9×8×7×6×5×4×3×2,
which is — ready? — 3,628,800 different ways. Imagine: Going from four items to
10 increases the possible arrangements from 24 to 3.6 million.
Bottom line: Possibilities are always wildly,
insanely greater than the number of things around us. If each neuron, or brain
cell, could connect with any other in your skull, the number of combinations
would be 85 billion factorial. This winds up being a number with more zeroes
than would fit in all the books on Earth. And that’s just the zeroes after the
1, the mere representation of the number, not the actual count. The brain’s
connection possibilities lie beyond that same brain’s ability to comprehend
it...
From - http://discover-magazine.-com/2014/julyaug
** **
1717
hours. It is interesting that there is so much we cannot know happening in our
own bodies, yet our brains and bodies take care of us enough to allow us to
exist in this matter of time and space. I wonder how you fit into all this
Amorella – I would assume you are outside of it as I assume the mind and heart
and soul to be outside all this existing busyness. Many would not agree and
don’t. But the peace and quiet and contentment we do find within would seem to
appear outside of matter working within time.
2142
hours. I finished Pouch 2.1.
Indeed, and not as expected is it? –
Amorella
No, I did not expect this conclusion. She trusts the machinery. We
would never trust the machinery. I don’t think Yermey trusts the machinery either.
Tomorrow
we can clean this up and put this together as a near final chapter, but tonight, add and post. – Amorella
***
Diplomatic Pouch 2.1 ©2014, rho
The
six sit around the usual table in the usual fashion with various daiquiris
combinations and side bowls of assorted Earth spreadable cheeses and wheat
crackers.
Have
we left yet, wonders Blake Williams as he glances studiously at his sister Pyl
and brother-in-law Justin.
“What
are you thinking, Blakie?” asks Pyl.
“We’d
like to know?” smiles Friendly as the others followed suit.
“Let’s
go,” says Yermey, “follow up.”
Blake
let’s out a little laugh with the comment, “It feels like we’re in the Twilight
Zone. My mind is racing with questions.” He chuckles at himself again, “I was
thinking – Have we left yet?”
The
light communial laughter spontaneously rises from the table like a gift sent
from Heaven. That’s what travels from Friendly’s mind through heart and settles
into her soul. Her impulse is to stand but she does not. “Blake, we have been
on the way since a few seconds after Ship closed the door.”
“No
turning back, Blake,” notes Justin in a tone more meant for himself than anyone
else.
Friendly
filled in quickly. “Ship will fill you in on the manners and social particulars
of our culture. You can practice them on us; be rest assured that like Ship, we
three are your friends and legal guardians, not guards. This trip will take
about three months your time. Ship’s time is set accordingly your room wall
times will keep you posted – not where you are but what time it is in earth
days minutes and seconds. It also posts your arrival time.”
“Much
like a GPS,” adds Blake comfortably. “We can understand that.”
“We
like to think of our location as within ourselves,” comments Hartolite. “Ship
is our pouch and we await the time pleasantly until we leave.”
“Then
does it get unpleasant?” asks Pyl with a smile to pause by.
“Very
good,” responds Yermey in a respectful delay. I like this woman, her smile is
as comforting to me as Friendly’s. Very odd, this is. This Pyl is but a babe in
the woods, but she shines anyway.
Again,
the relief of communial laughter follows the brief quiet after Pyl’s singular
attempt at wit.
“Why
is it, Hartolite; that you refer to Ship as a male when you think of him as
having a pouch you are surviving in?” asks Justin some irritation.
Hartolite’s eyes shoot him kindness
with, “Justin, Ship is a male because most of our males would rather serve than
lead. Our women protect first, and that is a major aspect of our society. Our
men, the majority, would rather focus on making our lives easier to live. More
men than women built Ship. It is our culture.” She stopped abruptly fearing she
was going to be regretfully misunderstood.
“I
like that,” comments Blake. “Let the women lead. They tend to be better at it
anyway.
Justin
holds up quietly, understanding Blake easier than the tone he heard between
Hartolite’s words. Her face though, he thinks, appears to show contentment. She
appears to know who she is and she acts accordingly. These people are
interesting to observe, but I suppose they consider us interesting also. This
is going to be an adventure, no doubt about it.
Pyl
casually smiles Friendly’s way. We two are more alike. We like to get things
done and sometimes we find men like Yermey and Blake annoying thorns in our
side. It will be good to find some time to sit down and talk with her about how
it is being female in any culture.
Blake
waits patiently for what’s next without much conscious thought. ‘We are in this
until the conclusion; we might as well make the best of it. That’s what we are
here for.’ These two statements are Blake’s bottom line.
Hartolite
has concerns about Ship contacting HomePlanets stating the obvious — we are
bringing three earthling primate volunteers home for an introduction to our
culture. Machinery will work this out before our people see our homecoming as a
fact. Ship would have never allowed this if he and the other machines did not
see this as a favorable outcome for us. Then, just like that, a new thought – our trip to Earth and this outcome was
secretly planned by machinery. Hartolite feels much better about their
whole otherwise surreptitious operation. She thinks confidentially, ‘I will
share this with Friendly when we are alone.’ Deeper and secretly to herself she
realizes, ‘we two will know something Yermey does not.’
***
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