Notes - writing / sacred place /

       You did your exercises while Carol was running an errand. Presently, you were both shopping in Kroger's on Mason-Montgomery Road; you dropped your items in her cart and returned to the car. It is a pleasant summer day so far, in the seventies and partly cloudy with low humidity. - Amorella

       1207 hours. Once we take the groceries home we are back out for a couple more errands and lunch.

       Your back is still bothering you, uncomfortably so. - Amorella

       1209 hours. Why bring this up? The readers if have don't want to read about my aliments. I don't like to think about them myself.

       Bordering on arrogance, boy. This isn't about pleasing your readers or you either. Your human condition is being recorded here. Why? You are a writer. Do you deny this? - Amorella

       1213 hours. I am a writer. I have no choice. Just like earlier in life in retirement I had to have something to do to keep me mentally active. Novels and a blog or so is the result. Necessity is the mother. I am the child, or so it seems to me. One of the children of necessity. Well, that doesn't work because I was uncalled for at the time. I can imagine how that must of been Mom finding herself pregnant, I'm sure a fervent wish at the time. Dad being Dad married the young woman since she was his girlfriend in high school and college. Funny, seems Dad had no choice either. He had been an Eagle scout in high school. I have to give him credit. Anyway, I was only a month or so early. Few evidently counted the months, or if they did it made its way around Westerville quietly like a lot of other things. Besides, we were nine months or so into World War II. There were other many more important problems to resolve in our little town and nationally. Dad focused on hunting and fishing for himself, being lazier than Dad I was satisfied hunting the letters on the typewriter, starting about the ages of three to four. We had more in common than I thought.

       A revelation. Necessity will do that for you at one time or another. All for now, boy. - Amorella

       Mid-afternoon. You are at the Whitaker facing west under the shade of an older Oak with a few immature acorns dropping. You had lunch at Panera and once home traded cars and took the Toyota for a wash at Mike's on Fields-Ertel. Carol is on page 109 of The Brethren. And, you have another very pleasant afternoon in the neighborhood. Alas, your right leg has taken on a spasm or two. - Amorella

       1538 hours. I'll walk a short distance. -- Wiped off a few water spots left on the car in the process. I thought the other car's seat was the problem, but it isn't necessarily so. The Deerfield Township mowers are working the cemetery today -- nice breeze and a much bluer sky than earlier. When we go home I will date a few more phototexts. That's the key and make sure what we have published so far is in the proper order before I put in more. I'm sure I have earlier notes scattered about on 1987. While I was writing those notes to an unknown rabbi it was a deeply ominous time. Either what I was writing was running from pure fiction/imagination or there was, in my mind, a very remote possibility the Heaven/Nature was going to cleanse the earth. In those days I thought the sun might mostly go out for just a few seconds then restart. No visual light for let's say, two to three seconds at most. Subtle (at least to me); something to catch the earth's attention. When it didn't really happen I was more than pleased and decided to put it in the first Merlyn book. I made the setting an alternative earth for an idea I had in 1962 after we survived the Cuban Missile Crisis. Some alternative earth civilizations  similar to our own stopped for a major nuclear war. This give me the idea of the prophecies the alien marsupial humanoids who believed their own civilization was going to fall away only to hear that it happened on earth instead. Sounds complicated but it wasn't. If I had been a real Ezekiel I would have preached the end was near. I wasn't sure as I have crazy-like thoughts from time to time; there was no preaching. Just as well as I hate being preached to myself and I would not have been a happy camper. Besides, I would have lost my job teaching at Mason. I loved teaching too much to preach about saving the world. Somebody else could do that. I don't know why this all came out right now, but it did. There is not the continuity I wanted for this 'exercise'.

(1612)

       Too bad. This is not research in the usual sense. This is your humanity expressing itself above ground as a reminder that you have acquaintances below ground here in the place, Rose Hill, and they are in no position to express themselves to the Living. A cemetery is a quite rightful place for you to be writing from because you are expressing your life as if you were recently Dead and are either talking to yourself, your memories of life, or, as it were, you are assuming there is an angel in the room. In this case, somewhat ironically, it is the readers, whoever they are, that serve as the Earth angels in this case. - Amorella

       1618 hours. Now, that is funny, Amorella. I like the whimsy in such a setting.

       Be that as it may you are writing above ground in a sacred place for the Dead. All for now. Carol is on page one twenty-seven. Post when plausible at home. - Amorella

       1621 hours. It is as if this 'session' as it were, was in a trance. No time went by in heartansoul as I wrote, but my mind kept the sense in the passages.