137. 31 May 2019
Mid-morning. You are having a problem articulating your frustration with Miss Havisham. Why? Because you remember what you once wanted chipped into your headstone: "Mostly Fiction" which is the darkest of your humor laced with irony. It seems, to you, that Miss Havisham is practicing what you once preached about yourself: "Remember, I am mostly fiction." Why? Because from the time you can remember you have made up stories or embellished stories because it made the story more entertaining. Why? Because you were bored. At four and five you believed in faeries and ghosts. You continued to believe in both until way in the forties. Why? Because it was not impossible even though it was way passed probable. You once thought I could possibly be an Angel of G-D even though you are an agnostic. Why? Because you 'felt' personal evidence of it. Being an agnostic though and knowing that human beings are full of self-deception; there is always the probability of self-trickery at work. Everything (human) is not always what it seems. You remember that Miss Havisham feels, as it were, that an Angel is possible, that she feels something to that effect, but that you, your human spirit, your heartansoulanmind together does not fully appreciate the one-third which appears, to you, to be too eager to please. Yesterday's words in blue seem to have been baiting you, and you are not going to have any of that if you can help it. Do these words explain your frustration? - Amorella
0932 hours. Yes, they do. Thank you, Amorella. It is an editorial of sorts, a rebuttal to what Miss Havisham said yesterday. The best part, to me, was her wit with the "long and the short of the dash" (technically a hyphen) between the capital G and D. Shakespeare's Hamlet says, "Since brevity is the soul of wit / And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief . . ." I twist that around and say, my soul is the brevity of wit with the 'dash' explanation. That is my heartansoulanmind at work not just my soul, Miss Havisham. (0941)
You are funny, Mr. Orndorff. - mh
You are up at Oakland Nursery on Rt. 36 on the far east side of Delaware proper. Carol is shopping for plants. You got fifty miles per gallon taking Kim and Paul over to Muirfield to watch the golf tournament. - Amorella
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Muirfield Village
Muirfield Village is an upscale golf-oriented community in the central United States, located in Dublin, Ohio, a suburb north of Columbus.
Founded by Jack Nicklaus, it is named after Muirfield, Scotland,[4] where he won the first of his three British Open titles in 1966 to complete the first of his three career grand slams. The village contains an eponymous golf course that hosts the Memorial Tournament, a PGA Tour event played each spring since its inception 43 years ago in 1976. A bronze sculpture of Nicklaus mentoring a young golfer, unveiled in 1999, is located in the wide median of Muirfield Drive.[5][6]
Selected and edited from Wikipedia
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You are embarrassed that the miles per gallon popped from your fingertips because it is irrelevant to the objective at hand, but it is not, because Miss Havisham was affected by your initial passion for the car mileage. "Awesome!" you said to yourself, "I'll have to tell Paul," and you did only because your finger hit the car phone accidently and his number rang once. You shut it off immediately, but he called you right back. After apologizing, you spirted the news out as you hung up. - mh
1354 hours. These little things are not important, Miss Havisham.
You are wrong in that assumption, Mr. Orndorff. Most everyone will tell you that some of the most seemingly trivial observations in their personal world will drop into their souls and stay forever. -mh
1639 hours. What people say and what happens can easily be two different things. This last paragraph of yours reads like an exaggeration, Miss Havisham. Things happen. For example, someone speeds through a yellow to red light, but then at before the next light someone in a large tow truck pulls out from a side street distracted by a bee in the car. The car hits the truck and the driver of the car dies. The light signal appeared trivial but by speeding through it he was in an unavoidable accident with a tow truck and died. If the bee hadn't distracted the truck driver all would have been well. Coincidence, but it could have been avoided if both drivers drove in safer modes of operation, but as is, one dies and the other lives knowing he should have paid more attention. As the event staying in their souls forever, who knows. Being immortal or not, what does a soul know of forever; a human being knows even less. People are full of bullshit, and I'm no different than anyone else . . .. It's easy to put words into sentences but whatever the words don't make what appears factual actually so. Details are most always missing. Lots of so-called facts are filled in with assumptions no one wants to deal with. What do some people say, "Leave it up to G-D to decide what happened" or "It was G-D will." I don't feel there is anything wrong with people saying, "It's G-D will." What do I know? The point is that it can be thought through deeper which in my mind is more humbling and thus more personally sacred. (1732)
Why don't you just shut up for a while, orndorff and post. (Don't you dare apologize.) - Amorella
1735 hours. You know how to put it to me, Amorella. You are just amazing.
