TToT -the Wakefield Doctrine-

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

‘Whats a birthday celebration without photos thought lost in the past?’
Una at some age less than six months. The woman holding her for the photo is wearing the traditional national dress of the Czech Republic, i.e. red, down-filled quilted jacket. She is smiling in the background. Una is resting her chest and forelegs on the woman’s left hand, her paws showing light beige (Una’s, not the woman’s) in color, Una’s expression is one of less than total enjoyment.

 

Isn’t it funny how words and expressions can change meaning with time? I’m currently trying to write this on my phone and, for whatever reason, the expression popped into mind, ‘ (he is) all thumbs’. I kinda know why that thought occurred to me, as my texting skills are totally what we used to refer to as ‘hunt an peck’. In any event, I remembered that proper texting technique involves the use of both thumbs, hence the thought of ‘all thumbs’. The continuation of the thought that meanings change was inevitable. (then: ‘Why, the poor dear tries so hard but is all thumbs’; now: ‘yow, look at her text, girls all thumbs’). I trust that’s what the ‘young’ people might say. For some reason I’m not always included in their peer conversations.

Where was I? I know! I know! This is the TToT.

This is a bloghop. People write posts, (on their respective blog), and link them to the post the Josie sets up each and every week. This allows ‘one-stop’ reading and given the theme, gratitude (its appreciation, recognition and sharing) it makes for very enlightening reading.

Thanks as always to Josie Two Shoes for her dedication and hard work in making this ‘hop experience both simple and seamless.

‘Colorful stripes and curious dogs’
Phyllis giving Una her birthday presents. They are in a gift bag, (as opposed to individually wrapped, as Una had already eaten breakfast).
The bag in on the left edge of the center of the photo. It shows as a rectangle (on end) held at the top by two very red strings for a handle. The bag has horizontal stripes from top top bottom and looks like an astronomers spectrum analysis (provide the astronomer was 5 years old and just discovered Crayola Centuri).
Una is on her couch. And leaning forward to check out the bag with her primary senses, i.e. her nose is a quarter in from the bag (to explore the contents), her ears are up (in case it’s alive) and her eyes are totally on Phyllis. A happy and alert dog on her birthday.

“A young dog opening presents.’
Deciding which of the toys to pull our of the bag first.

‘Autumns birthday cake’
A photo of the side yard. The lower half (landscape perspective) is of the lawn, which for reasons related to shade, runs from a splotchy dark green on the left, fading to a worn-carpet beige as it leaves our view on the right.
The top half of the photo is of the pine woods. The nearest pine trees are showing with their branches shooting upwards at an angle to the trunk, like a stop-action fireworks display with green gun powder. There is a gap in the trees in the center that leads to Phyllis’ tree house.
The center of the photo is the birthday cake. There is circle of ferns about twenty feet across. The edges show darker than the center and add to the sense of a disc. The color ranges from green to a diluted mustard-yellow with some brown-trying-real-hard-to-look-red. The edge nearest has shadows and make you think of the upwards-curling-over of frosting around the top edge of a cake.

2) Una’s birthday today, she’s 7 (or maybe 49 or …56.) Nah, she’s seven years old because that’s how long she’s been a part of the family. The time from being born to showing up with her driver* I believe is about 6 months.

3) * ‘what’s this about having a driver?’  Glad you asked!

4) * This would be Una (actually, in this photo, she would be more properly address as ‘Balla’, her Czech name), more than likely at the airport in Frankfort Germany. She flew from the Czech Republic to Boston, (via Frankfort), She was driven to our house from Boston.

5) and since we’re on the subject of hypo-grata**..   abusive games that a certain element of society inflicts on the young and the clarks…. musical chairs!  totally awful game meant to amuse scotts, re-assure rogers and remind clarks that they’re Outsiders (like they need the reminder).

6) Hey, ho! New project in the woods and it involves…. moving earth from one place to another! Very excited about the coming week (or two, depending on weather). We’re constructing a new path in the woods that will allow Una and Phyllis to walk down to the pond from a different direction. My part is to create an earthen ramp to compensate for a point in the path where the land rises too quickly. More to follow.

7) ‘Home and Heart‘ I continue to write the story at a markedly variable rate of production. It is very much a learning experience.

8) the Gravity Challenge… the crew, Val and May and Joy and Kristi all be sending in photographic evidence of how big a crush the center of the earth has on each of us. Every single morning except for Sunday. Come on by. It’s fun and beneficial, if altering the number on your scale is an item of interest.

9) ‘This Space Available’ ***

10) Secret Rule 1.3

 

*** How cool is the attitude towards lists of Ten Items that Josie encourages? (Well, since you asked), if you’re out there and reading this, maybe a friend mentioned a bloghop where people write about their week and their lifes and offer some really positive insights and you’re thinking, ‘Sounds like fun and I’d love to participate but I only have one thing I can think of at the moment.’  Well, problem solved! Send in your Item of Thankful (by comment would be easiest) and I’ll set it right there at Number 9!)

‘This way to entrance! Step right up, don’t be shy! Fun and adventure await on the other side of this little virtual curtain.’

 

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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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ἡμέρα Ἄρεως -the Wakefield Doctrine- (‘the day of the week most favored by clarks’)

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

So why is it that, of the three personality types, clarks look upon Tuesday as, perhaps, the best of all days of the week? Simple. The weekend-workweek transition day (Monday) has been survived, the focus on achieved (or not) progress day (Wednesday) has not yet occurred and the deceptively desirable end-of-workweek day (Friday) is still a distant dream.

Tuesday is all about optimism and promise. And clarks, well, clarks are nothing if not the embodiment of promise.* No, in our brief discussion this morning, ‘promise’ is decidedly a noun. And the context is social context-free! It is not about breaking a promise, making a promise, promising to better. It (the promise of a clark) is the potential… for (totally fill in the blank).

If anything, the promise inherent in the worldview of a clark is the event horizon of their existence. whoah! (whoah, indeed!) Damn, as often happens, I’ve stumbled into a topic that, like a quiet talk and a cup of coffee at the kitchen counter, the coming day still held back by the castellation in bleached oak of the cabinets bracketing the sink, the outside wall falls into the yard and the world yaws open, ever hungry for human time.

lol

Cliff Notes version of my tantalizing allusion: “…the promise inherent in the worldview of a clark is the event horizon of their existence.” clarks are always searching for something. Being of a rational bent (clarks think, scotts act and rogers feel), the sought-after thing manifests as knowledge/information. clarks are the insatiably curious of the three. The ‘something’ clarks seek is the thing that everyone around them appear to know already and, by tragic miscalculation, clarks assume is the knowledge that makes them, (scotts and rogers) real people. They must have been absent that day, when growing up and being taught about life, ya know. In any event, that is the singularity, the conviction that if they acquire more information, they might discover the secret and become a part of.** Like the nearly-all powerful black hole, we cannot see it directly and so are left with the edge of endless appetite, like golem with a question mark impressed upon our foreheads.

 

 

*  the natural tendency here is to interpret the word ‘promise’ as a verb, which totally changes the spin. That kind of promise is strictly of the domain of the real people, the scotts and the rogers. (“Hey, a promise is a promise, so get some clothes on an we’ll catch some breakfast”  “Yeah, but you promised. I heard you promise. Everyone heard you promise. How can you do such a thing?“)

 

** super-brief Doctrine for New Readers: unlike most of the other personality theories and schema, the Doctrine does not rely on quizzes and surveys, questions about favorite colours or food, likes and dislikes, in order to establish which category a person falls into. This is because, from our viewpoint, our personality ‘types’ are simply the characteristically distinct style of dealing with life, given the world we are experiencing. Ex: I grew up in the reality of the ‘the Outsider’ and I learned and developed the style of interacting that would best advantage me in that context. My tendency to mumble, have poor posture, make creatively eccentric fashion choices, be funny (provided you’re close enough to hear me) and exhibit a sporadic yet wildly original creativity is because that is what is successful when contending with the world as I experience it. For scotts and for rogers, the same applies. Start out as a little baby one in the world of the Predator and I betcha you develop a predilection for quick reflexes, act-before-being-acted-up real fast. It’s about what strategies are appropriate to the character of the world you grow up in, you know, what kind of likes and dislikes, favorite colours or food that increase the odds that you survive and thrive today.

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Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine-

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

John W Jones

The Six Sentence Story is a bloghop hosted by zoe. Each and every week she invites all those, so inclined, to write a story relating/related to a new prompt word. The stories are limited only by the number of sentences it has. Six. No more and no less. Otherwise it’s left to us, the writers, to decide what makes a story. And that’s where the fun is.  The Six Sentence Story can be anything, fiction, autobiographical, non-fiction or any combination of all. It’s an opportunity to witness ideas gathering words and forming tales, that others can enjoy. As has happened before, this week I got well into Wednesday with the belief I knew exactly (well, sketchy-exactly) what my Six would be about. And then my clarklike nature exerted it’s power. One reference in a comment on ‘the Facebook’ lead to ‘the Civil War’ and then to Andersonville and then Elmira (both prison camps). But the idea still had not sunk it’s ink-stained teeth into me until I got to a reference to the above picture man. …it then wouldn’t let go.

….slip

Each morning that might slip from night’s tenebrous grasp, the sun would blaze over the clouds of mist that would, each summers day, rise from Foster’s Pond. Columns of new sunlight lightly balanced on the surface of the stagnant water, suggesting a delicate crystal formation; yet the stench that floated down over dry land, whispered of disease and death. Both the terrain and the Earth’s pull on all things conspired to draw the water that fell from the sky and the fluids that flowed from un-healed battle wounds, down from the hills and through the canvas ghettos that were home to thousands of Confederate soldiers.

In A-tents housing six or more prisoners, at least two would die of disease before bullet wounds or shattered limbs, the older prisoners (and increasingly the guards) called this place in rural New York State, ‘Helmira’ and would tell dark, cautionary tales as welcome to newly interred, “Ah swear it’s true. God may be white, but his angel of death is a old colored man who moves through the camp collectin the dead and when he passes, ain’t not a sign of boot pressed in the mud.”

In every culture, even one grounded in a makeshift prisoner-of-war camp, rise tales intended to give comfort; fighting the goblin-clutch of diarrhea and small pox, dying men would grasp the nearest arm and beg,  “Jus promise that John W Jones will tend me when my time comes. I got no regrets, but that my mother won’t never know what became of me, Sexton Jones’ll make sure she knows her boy died brave.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Source Credits: ‘The Elmira Prison Camp; a history of the military prison at Elmira NY’ by Clay W Holmes 1912      (p. 140-150)

John W Jones Museum

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Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- STAND

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

peabody

Wednesday morning warm-up for Thursday’s Six Sentence Story with clever graphic effects.

Zoe encourages, harangues and coaxes those of us with a jones for new arrangements of words to get our weekly fix with the Six Sentence Story. The prompt word is our starting point, where we end up… that’s the fun part.

This week thought I’d try something different. (lol when zoe stops laughing we’ll continue.) Old Egg often writes ‘Sixes’ that I read as remembrances of events from youth; they are both poignant and very engaging. So, this week I thought I’d try to write a ‘remembrance Six’ in the style of our friend from Down Under .

(Hey Old Egg! Dude! Not as easy as it you make it look.)

Stand

Through the endless last week of high school, the hallways echoed with the dissipation of stress, as exams were over, nothing left but to hand in textbooks and wait to be released into Summer; even the teachers were different, losing the rigid posture of authority, and a handful of the newer teachers even acted like regular people.

“Hey, could you give me a hand with this,” the boy looked up and down empty corridor, certain the girl was talking to someone else, “I need help to take this banner down.” The very pretty brunette, (the young man knew her name was Cindy, but then again, he also knew the names of all the Greek goddesses and the maiden names of most of the younger, attractive film stars), who stood in the doorway of an empty classroom inspired surprise, if for no other reason than the fact that she was: pretty, a senior, very popular and talking to him by choice.

With the boundless capacity of the adolescent mind to extrapolate, project, and imagine, all with total disregard for reason and reality, the boy watched a future life unfold involving love, sex (as much detail as his limited experience allowed) and most of all, acceptance by those around him…all in the time it took to walk five steps to the open classroom door.

He immediately noticed the record player on the desk at the front of the room and with an uncharacteristic disregard for consequences, lifted the tone arm over the rotating black disk and put the needle down at the very first track; Sly and the Family Stone, closer friends to the boy who spent his life in the social shadows and alleyways, began to sing, ‘…and in the end you’ll still be you.’

He looked up and the girl was still there and she was smiling…at him.

 

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