Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine-

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

Running behind. Gotta catch up.

zoe

prompt word: ‘JOINT’

Six Sentences (per) Story

Joint.

‘Time is surely the slyest of gods,’ he smoothed the ridiculous paper gown flat with hands the backs of which were even more wrinkled.

‘How so?’ he thought she looked younger than yesterday, himself vaccinated against irony by his analytical mind.

‘It takes our world and changes things in such a subtle manner, not only do we not notice, we approve, even embrace it’s deviltry’, he sat up straighter, the sound of footsteps approached the closed-door but continued on, hounds of an unknown hunter following a fresher scent.

‘Now you’re being overly romantic, as usual‘, she smiled with the love and confidence that anchored his soul.

‘How then, did it come to be, that I distinctly recall, when asking, ‘What kind of a joint is this?’ the person I expected the answer from was a man in a stained apron, a cigarette and a battered smile, rather than someone who’s first name I can’t pronounce in a spotless white coat and too young a face.

He turned, the soft avalanche of her laughter beginning as it had through the years, soothing his self-inflicted turmoil; but the only chair in the doctor’s examining room remained empty, unable to shield him from the sounds of busy strangers passing, back and forth, just beyond the door.

 

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TToT -the Wakefield Doctrine- (I believe the expression you’ll want is ‘cover the waterfront’)

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

‘The road to Farmer Brown’s’
Bout a minute or so into the video (below) I will attempt to provide a description of the stonewalls that line the road that Una and I are driving down. I admit to choking. It’s kinda interesting (choking as I did, but that not what I’m writing this for), I will now offer a description of the stonewalls that hold the green-skeletal armies of corn back in the fields, their world one of order and rows. they remain standing in line, right to the edge of the road and freedom, even as the machines approach to end their tall, upside-down broom-like lives.
About the stone walls? rows of miniature elephants and whales, with funeral shrouds of time-aged lace doilies worn so long as to become a part of their bodies.

Three day weekend. Attempted posting on a Friday. Nothing makes sense anymore!

Well, some things make sense. This bloghop, the Ten Things of Thankful, hosted each week by Josie Two Shoes, makes sense. The theme and most every participant’s blog posts are reasonable and sensible. Ten Things that we can say elicited or otherwise caused us to feel grateful. As recently or as long-ago-ly as the writer chooses.

People, places and things. All are fair game.

 

Speaking of talented lifeforms… our friend Cynthia hasn’t simply stepped onto the path (that many find themselves walking) she is stepping ahead and sending back reports from up ahead. Bringing a ridiculously broad range of talents and skills to bear, Cynthia is able to relate her experiences in a manner that not only serves as encouragement but as an aide, tool and reinforcement for self-developing oneself.  She has a site, Intuitive and Spiritual. But the big news, what has her at the Number Spot (‘with a bullet’) is the publication and availability of her newest book: The Tree of Life: A Personal Development Journal: A Journey of Mindfulness and Intentions

That is Number One.

Our second Item is a place (and, as a subset of the three primary categories), an event. Last night’s Friday Night Walk with Una. This time we went for a short drive to see the cows at Farmer Brown’s farm. (This is a fictional name for an actual farm. But you probably were thinking, “Hey, I heard of Farmer Browns farm. That looks nothing at all like Farmer Brown’s farm. What the hell is going on here?)

For Number Two on this week’s list of Things of Thankful:

If there is One and Two (and we intend to continue on, up to Ten, this would be a good place to add Number Three)… Three:

Sunflower-to-be (or not to be)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Four or more?Shore: Simplest of Grats we live within easy driving distance of the shore. Specifically the shore of the Atlantic. Even more specifically, the coastal region of southern New England.  Here:

Phyllis and the Enclosure that floats above the earth in the embrace of a tree

Five and Six: (Sunday Supplement) Be sure’n stop back tomorrow.

Seven alone: Surely there is nothing more self-sufficient than the Wakefield Doctrine. Why? Because it, (the Doctrine), is a perspective. It is a perspective on the behavior and relationships of and among the people in our lives. With the (added, because this is not the perspective, it is a perspective) understanding we gain by viewing the world through the lens of the Wakefield Doctrine, we are in a position to see the world as others are experiencing it. And that can only add to what we are. ya know?

Eight (It is the most rogerian of primary numbers) therefore we should cite both the Gravity Challenge and the Six Sentence Story. Not because they (the activities are of a rogerian character) simply that they (both bloghops) are activities of a group nature. And nothing says group nature like rogerian.

Nine  yeah, I know! music here’s something thats been in my head all morning. It’s from the before time so, if you were around then, let the music (possibly) cause you an emotional flash back. ’cause that’s one of the things music is real good at. (from Edgar Winter’s’ ‘Jasmine Nightdreams’ album.

10) the first among secret Rules! Secret Rule 1.3

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Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine-

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

Very early start to my warm-up phase of the week’s Six Sentence Story. Wednesday morning! (Yeah, ‘ayyiee’ indeed!)

In any event, the story-robbing world of work and reason is lurking outside my garage door like a garden-hose-wielding-gasoline-thief-magically-transported through-time-from-1974, so intent on stealing the precious fuel that he fails to notice that there are three plastic gas containers lined up along the wall of the garage, each one complete with Easi-grip handle®. The better for running away from the police.

zoe and her prompt words! Or rather prompt word. Only one word each week. But… but! that one word has got to gather exactly six sentences around it in the form of a story. Otherwise she’d have to go and, like, totally change the title of this bloghop. And that wouldn’t be write. (ha ha)

(A.S.* This week’s Six is from a scene in the new chapter in ‘Home and Heart‘. Drusilla is the very able owner of a real estate brokerage who has been engaged by a large and aggressively growing company by the name of ‘the Bernebau Company’. The Bernebau Company is owned by one Cyrus St Loreto and Constantin Szarbo is his fixit man.)

Bend

“Knock, Knock.”

Drusilla Renaude’s scalp tingled from the atavistic effort of her hair follicles to stand straight up, the better to make her look larger, this in service of the most fundamental of human defensive strategies. The incongruity of the childish onomatopoeic greeting, more common among casual friends in an informal setting, coming from a man like Constantin Szarbo, enhanced her already adrenaline-laced blood supply with a tincture of ever corrosive fear.

Drusilla was a talented, educated and accomplished woman not given to being intimidated. Twisting her hips and bending her legs, visible through the glass-topped desk as one half of a pair of quotation marks, caused her upper body to turn, courtesy of the swivel-bearing in her chair, to face the door into her office.

“Yes?” The owner of Renaude and Associates offered a smile appropriate to asking a stranger who has clearly lost their way if they need some direction.

Constantin Szarbo filled the doorway, impeccably dressed in a suit from Savile Row, shoes from the Marche region of Italy, watch from La Chau-de-Fonds in Switzerland and a smile from the primordial jungle.

 

 

* yeah, Ante Scriptum, sorry! I don’t make this stuff up…well, sometimes

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TToT -the Wakefield Doctrine-

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)1

(Old joke*) *Tenure on planet required to appreciate it.

Before we go any further, allow me to state what everyone who comes here, more than twice2 knows both consciously and intuitively, i.e. stream of consciousness is the preferred style of communicating thoughts, acts and emotions, here at the Doctrine. One might, of course, argue that this simply represents an inability to organize thoughts in a logical and reasonable3 order, eschewing skilled presentation for the high-volume excitement of the random expression of thoughts and feelings that often sound bigger and more substantial than they are, after the smoke clears, the parenthesis are counted and majority of the ‘what the?!!’s are swept up and put in a bag.4
Or it’s simply fun. Fun in a (potentially) risky way. While it might be argued that effective writing must entail focus, discipline and attention to detail, it is also a relatively non-disputed fact that what ends up ‘on paper’ (both content and form) is a reflection of the writer’s personal worldview.5

So, lets all welcome our hostina, Josie Two Shoes who went off searchin for Dan’l Boone, (or Elvis or the Lost Chord*). Her work and the positive energy that she imbues  this here bloghop here with each week is a remarkable thing indeed.

1) I am grateful for html, at least the yellow plastic shovel and blue pail level of code exhibited here today.

2) Una always makes the list. Why would she not?

3) Phyllis is right up there too, competing with a certain Chodský pes and whatever frozen-for-a-moment kaleidoscopic view of the world I am afflicted by as I type.

4) the Wakefield Doctrine, the reason in general: well, because; in particular (this week): those superscripted citations above.**

5) photo

Una on the Couch
(Warning! Weird photo description ahead)
This is Una lying in the loveseat that sits in front of the picture window that, in turns looks down on the driveway as it recedes from the house, intent on connecting us to the neighborhood street and the real world beyond.
Una is doing that ‘lying down upright’ thing that dogs do. Back legs tucked under stomach, back curved to the side, head resting on her right foreleg, her left foreleg next to her head. Everything is at an angle facing to the slight left of the camera lens so as Una glances at me, you see her eyes purely by virtue of the white, sideways crescent, as she focuses on my, to her left.) She is black with white-black positive contours as a result of the light from the window (which is out of frame). The couch is a milk chocolate brown and there is a butterscotch-colored quilt on the back of the love seat, water falling behind her.
If I was a food guy I’d have the vocabulary for the chocolate butterscotch dessert items that some part of my brain is tapping upwards in subconscious morse code.

6) video

7) shoutout: Cynthia over at Intuitive and Spiritual (muy beneficial blog)  Zoe at ‘..uncharted’ (home of the Six Sentence Story and a certain canine with decidedly privateer inclinations)

8) Sunday Supplement (check back tomorrow!)

‘Have I mentioned that I derive an inordinate amount of pleasure from digging holes?’
No, seriously, I do! And, for any dirtaphiles, the earth that has been relocated is being put to good use, forming a more dog friendly approach to the bridge and adding to the width of the path to Phyllis’ tree house.

9) Sunday Supplement (check back tomorrow!)

Sunflower To Be.

10) Secret Rule 1.3

Click Here…. join the activity. It’s the weekend, you got time.

 

1) no particular significance, other than it is the stub-toed, curtain-blown-back-for-just-the-right-second for a view of something new, of this week’s Post

2) in the early years when visits were the measure of reach rather than the number of comments, it was generally understood that, in this used-bookstore, peep-show, neighborhood garage of a virtual world, chance encounters were likely, repeat visits were far less common, much greater import.

3) sounds like any rogerian worldview you might have come across recently?

4) yes, this is referring to our scottian brethren

5) lest we forget, the Wakefield Doctrine maintains that we, all of us, while living in the personal reality of only one of the three worldviews, never lose the potential to perceive the world as do the other two.

*  album by the Moody Blues although the song below was not on that album

**  above here

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Six Sentences and a Story -the Wakefield Doctrine-

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

 

Kind of a late start for my ‘warm-up’. It’s 8:19 on Wednesday.

This, of course, is the Six Sentence Story. A bloghop hosted by zoe. A story of six sentences total (no more and no less) based on/related to/involving the week’s prompt word. It can be fun. It can be aggravating. It can be both. That third statement is probably the most difficult lesson in life. (As a child, I held on to the belief that truths were simple, straightforward and unambiguous. As an adult I came to believe that the opposite was true. The lesson is that both can exist in an uneasy, life-affirming coexistence. Takes a lifetime to learn. oh well.)

This week’s prompt word: BORDER

The streetlights lit the interior of the Buick like chandeliers swaying in a nighttime hurricane, oblong shadows chased each other over the dashboard, climbed the seat backs and threw themselves into the canyon of the back seat. He held the steering with only his left hand, nestled in the plastic angle created by the spoke that connected the horn to the vinyl-wrapped circle, a bird of prey momentarily awed by the depths of the valley surrounding the nest. The console of the car bore defiant witness to the tenacity of human needs for security; designed to travel at speeds of over 120 mph, the steel and glass home had to have a cupboard, supplies were necessary no matter how brief the trip. The driver’s right hand lay palm up on the padded console, a willing (and hopeful), castaway rocking ever so slightly on the hard bone ridge of knuckles.

Light slowly bloomed in the distant night, the first of the stores and shops that stood to mark the edges of the small border town.

She smiled from the corner of her eyes, the arc of dark eye brows over eyes that would spark and flare more than twinkle and shine; the woman’s passion and power were inseparable, and with the first touch, any distinction, irrelevant.

 

 

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