Imagination

Yes, I opened a blog for these notes but it is such a beautiful day that I am out here in back, enjoying the mild temperature and soft breeze. We have some beautiful cardinal birds in our yard/neighborhood and they are always a joy to see. The grass is dark green.

I’ve been reporting about mom in the blog and will expand on her condition some here. She is hanging on buy a thread. I thought sure, when I spontaneously awoke at 3:19 am, that’ she’d gone. I went back to see her just a few minutes before and when I went back to bed I thought; was she breathing? Then I was convinced that she wasn’t. All sorts of fantasies ran through my mind but then at 4 am she called out; she needed the potty. My imagination had been running amok.

This is not a new thing; I have often been involved in situations where it ran wild; and for many years. It happened/s so often that I discount it most of the time. These flights of fancy are often books by s.o. else. Most stories are single source and follow a thread, even if hidden, all the way through. Anyway, I no longer get stampeded.

Just now I had to stoop writing and tend to mom, who is constipated from not enough fluid, not enough food, and then the vicodin. She said, “Can’t you just shoot me?” Well, no. For whatever reason she isn’t finished with this lifetime yet; there must be s.t. left for her to do, some influence on s.o. One has to believe that we are all here for a purpose.

In a blog I said I was looking for the labyrinth into which I would go. Wending through one is what we do and more than one at a time. I may have found it with mom. She is my purpose a la moment. I have to keep my schedule free for her, to answer her calls, get her up and down, feed her, and encourage her. As long as she’s alive, she gets my time.

I am not going to project anything about Carola; she is a saint the way she is pitching in. Yet her memory is slipping and it is more and more noticed. I can’t allow my imagination to get carried away on her. I’ll deal with whatever when the time comes. Just like a horse on a x-country trial; he has to decide each obstacle as he comes to it.

The blogs are fun. I do them in word then add the paragraph html controls and copy them to the editor. I have found that 1000 words minimum and 1050 max is a good length. It is 33 of these lines at 8 per x 4. It amounts to 1 ½ pages of mss so a 250 page book would be about 160 or so blogs. That’s about 6 months at one per day. That same book would be 10 notebooks, more or less.

I read what I write and often don’t like it very much. It can sound stilted, out of date, cold, and impersonal. My writing moods change often. My short stories sound more like newspaper reports. I recall a version of The Elephant Man that was written in this clinical style. I liked it, although I doubt if anyone else did. It was written to convey the story and nil else; no color. It appealed to me because I am a knowledge seeker and care less about the style side of things. This is why texts, lectures, and analyses are more interesting than novels and such. Yet poetry is another thing entirely. I like to write it and read it.

In the case of poetry it is because it is puzzling. IOW it can be interpreted on different levels, at different times, by different readers and even the same reader. No one, not even the writer has all the answers.

We watched home videos of Sean, Mk, etc last night. I am enthralled by my image and my voice. I started out somewhat critical of it but got over that soon enough. I am big, resonant, and have a presence. I’ve got about 10 to 15 years left in me if I keep myself. Yet as long as Mom’s here, I have to be like one of the wise virgins and keep my lamp trimmed and filled with oil. IOW keep my arms, legs, torso, and heart strong and deepen my reservoirs of psychic and physical energy. Plus take advantage of any opportunity to perform.

One can’t go back. The time vector has no negative aspect. Events are recorded but cannot be altered except by the chicanery of the historians. Certainly the historian within remembers it just the way it went down.

It is important to be getting s.t. positive accomplished in whatever situation one is in. The choice of actions to take is personal. There are considerations but bottom-line it is up to me. This is where all the influences on behavior come into play. A choice has to be made, it is then made, and with the consequences one must deal. This is why I said previously that approval/ disapproval is a primary consideration for/of me/mine. Often I think it is the first one. Then other factors are evaluated. It is sort of an emotional response thing. And when I say first, it is even ahead of legal, moral, and ethical, or can be, if I am not aware.

I don’t think I am a special case in this way. Some of us learn from experience and make the better choices. I have, in the past, done for approval, lost for approval, kept quiet for it, etc, etc. It is for me, and I am the center of my universe, one of the most powerful of motivations.

I want to keep the house and yard nice, why? My first blush was for approval and second was to maintain the resale value; this is more rational. But the former is/was my primary motivation. I didn’t want any one pointing out flaws. S.t. tells me I am like a barking dog that barks but doesn’t know why. I dream, scheme, plot, and plan but get nowhere; I am in nowhere KY.