Put Me Amongst The Girls

I have great news to report: THE GRANGE SISTERHOOD HAS BEEN TOPPLED. And I toppled a couple of farmers' daughters too.

Think back to yesterday, when I engaged in some fierce sacred sword play, preparation for what I needed to accomplish. I was channeling single-minded energy with such intensity I was able to burn my initials in the lawn. The power of thought is so strong, quite frankly I won't leave home without it.

I picked one narrow, short sword to take to the grange dance. Then when the time came I drove down the hill and turned south. About as soon as I did, they were taking potshots at me. One of the men in trees shot out my back passenger window. But I kept on, my thoughts completely on point. I saw one of them up ahead raising his gun, so I moved his gun up with a motion of my sword just as he was shooting. Then glancing off to the left, across the road I saw another guy fall dead from his tree.

They seemed surprised to see me pull into the grange compound. But I parked and walked on toward a central point. No one was going to shoot me now. They wanted to see how it played out, perhaps toy with me. But if there's any toying to be done, all together now, put me amongst the girls...

Everything was mostly in motion. I could hear Johnny Hotshot's band inside the grange. Whatever preparations in the barn there were, they'd been done and folks were coming out. Back to my right, behind me, by the cars, were some of the callow boys of town, thinking they'd come out for some quick action. But if there's any action to be had, all together now, put me amongst the girls...

Appearing like a vision of both loveliness and hideousness, out came the orgy participants and the farmers' daughters with the young grange men playing their part as suitors. If you didn't know better you'd think they were deep in heat. The grabbing, groping, soon to become a group grope. The farmers' daughters looking bored, the young men very much into it, the matrons chests heaving, busting at the seams, the men in full arousal. But if there's any arousing to be be done, all together now, put me amongst the girls...

They were arrayed in the grove, the farmer's daughters calling for the callow boys to come over. The orgies were getting down to business. I stood my ground, taking in the full scene. I felt for my short sword in my pocket. It felt hot, blazing. Then from the barn came Lemuel with the horses in proud procession. They were heading over by the fence, setting up to destroy the boys from town. But if there's any destroying to be done, all together now, put me amongst the girls...

Lemuel saw me -- they must not have told him I was there -- and he seemed surprised. There was a strange look on his face. Not exactly fear. He moved in to quiet the horses and seemed to be whispering something to the lead horse, Honest Maude III. Everything had come to a head!

The boys from town were beginning to move that way. But I pulled my sword and pushed them back. They fell backwards and were knocked unconscious. The orgy clumps were seething and sizzling like a devil that knows perdition's at hand. They doubled down, getting it on even more intensely. I don't know what the farmers' daughters were thinking, but they were no longer acting. This was their life and they needed to play the part with fervor. But if there's any playing to be done, all together now, put me amongst the girls...

Into the midst of that seething, writhing mess I strode -- like John Brown -- purposely putting myself where the horses would have the best shot at me. Hallelujah! The Moment I Was Born For! Just then Lemuel ran for the trees and shot me a look of approval. I glanced down at the horses' hooves. They had extra sharp horseshoes, cleated in a major way, kind of like the chariot wheels in Ben Hur, but of course not as long.

I raised my sword to the heavens and felt such a surge of righteous power go through me, the lights of the grange compound flickered and Johnny Hotshot's sound system went out. We heard nothing now but the stillness of a late summer night and the moans of the orgies, now much heated up. The horses turned toward me, looking over their shoulder to get their aim right. But if there's any aiming to be done, O teacher, put me amongst the girls...

I reached down -- no man can do this and survive! -- and unsnapped my pants, unzipped myself, took off my pants, including my undies, and stood there as proud as I've ever been in my life. The sword lay limp on the ground. But not to worry, the true sword was very much present and accounted for. At this sight, the horses went into a mighty frenzy. I should've been kicked to death well before now. Hallelujah! I spun there in place for all the grange to see. Maybe in some parallel universe I'm still spinning!

The orgy hushed. They were ready to say Sayonara to me. Ha ha! The horses, in a mighty frenzy, were now so enraged, not knowing what to do. But what they did is they began kicking each other wildly. And with those sharp Ben Hur cleats finding their mark, being embedded in the heads of one another, it was a sickening scene. Blood was in a wild spray, horses were falling dead in a terrible arc all around the perimeter of the orgy field.

I stood my ground, with naked orgy participants running in fear for the sidelines. Then I spun again while thrusting my hips, and I think I was unconsciously shrieking several of the most powerful incantations of Peruvians rituals, as my mind was not understanding but my spirit gave the utterance. When I aimed at the barn -- thrust -- it burst into flames. When I aimed at Lemuel's house -- thrust -- I saw the lights flicker inside and heard bloodcurdling screams from within. When I aimed at the horses -- I quickly pulled back -- as the last survivor sat back on his haunches and put up his front feet, just like in the westerns.

I stood there like that then as all things except the burning barn became very quiet, perfectly still. It was then that two of the farmers' daughters came and straightened out some of the blankets. I really hate to spell out precisely what happened next, except to say I'm still smiling this morning. And if there's any smiling to be done, all together now, put me amongst the girls...

After what might be called a personal climax of sorts, I learned that Lemaperu and Peru's spirits were merged with the horses. It was their Peruvian deviltry that had died. The others, being very afraid, went along with them out of fear. Even Lemuel had had enough, and what he was whispering to the horse was being whispered to the Peruvians, "Your day has come!"

There might still be some mopping up, but for all intents and purposes, the Grange Sisterhood has been destroyed!

Everything's Coming To A Head

First, let me say I'm thankful for the special honors, the "Already Classic" designation given to my post on the mule, or whatever it was, standing still, standing alone, something. But I can't rest on my gold stamps, no matter how many arrows they have inexplicably piercing them. I must press on!

I have a strange feeling that everything's coming to a head on this whole Grange Sisterhood affair, with the Peruvian queens, princesses, breeding thing, and the killing of young men. And to say I feel it's coming to a head is a major statement, because the roots of this affair apparently go back somewhere between 50-70 years.

It could be coming to a head relatively soon, which in that context could still be years or decades away. I hope it's not decades because I'd like to live to see it come to a head. Let's say it takes decades. I've announced it's coming to a head, which in that case would be meaningless. But whether it comes to a head in the next few weeks or a year from now, that's still pretty soon. I don't see it coming to a head today or this week. It'll surely take longer than that to come to a head.

The thing for me is to be ready, more or less prepared for when it does come to a head. But since I still am not sure what I'm up against, what the parameters of the thing are, to determine when it will come to a head is hard to do. I only know the bare essentials and really not even that. I know there's horses involved. And some strange esoteric lore about mules. And as to the Peruvian queen, I did meet her, or someone posing as her. It seems so complicated I ought to just sit down and figure out where we are.

Is it a mystery? I don't know. Is there another Peruvian queen? I don't know anything about it. Is Grandma in on it? All signs are pointing "No." A lot of people don't get bedsores. I feel kind of stupid, but I do know something's going on. Even if the Grange Sisterhood simply exists to maintain the old ways, they're doing it in a funny way. Wouldn't it be funny if nothing was really going on? But how to explain the horses kicking people to death? And all the Peruvian stuff with Lemuel.

All this somehow touches me. And my best guess is that it appears to be coming to a head.

It's hard for me to believe this simple little house might be the nexus of a rural conspiracy going back 50-70 years. But there has to be something about it, because I'm electrified with anxious anticipation, worrying that everything might come to a head and overwhelm me.

I'm going to cut this short today, because I need time to return to the cellar. I'm starting to think the "Sex and the Single Girl" book might have been just one aspect of this whole story. I'm kicking myself that I haven't gone through the things in the cellar before, and I had a whole year.

I could've been on top of this way before it came to a head.

Sex and the Single Peruvian

It's been over a year since I was poking around in the cellar and found the book Sex and the Single Girl by Helen Gurley Brown. "The unmarried woman's guide to men," it said.

Back then I was almost willing to exclude Grandma from the likely suspects who could've owned this book. But the dates, the fact that my aunt and mom were both out of the house well before 1963, led me to one inescapable conclusion: Grandma was a lech. Or at the very least, scientifically interested in affairs of the heart.

The "True Confessions," "True Stories," "Secrets" magazines that were always around the house also factored in as a clue.

I put it out of my mind, that book, since Grandma and Grandpa had been married forever, so why would she want or need an "unmarried woman's guide to men"? Unless, unless, you see the pieces are falling into place. The whole thing with the Grange Brotherhood or Sisterhood (more likely at this point), the sex games designed to ensnare and kill foolish young men, the Peruvian queens, a dynasty the extent of which I haven't begun to discern. These things can't be merely coincidental.

And both my grandparents were in with the grange people all those years ago. Until whatever it was that separated them and put them in disfavor or semi-disfavor with the group. Then it was hardly ever mentioned. Except I knew we avoided the countryside like the cooties. And I remember Grandpa oftentimes had a cold shudder go up his spine that even people unfamiliar with him could feel across town. I could feel it. That's why they kept me out of kindergarten till the following spring. I had some kind of rare, congenital frostbite.

Anyway, if the Grange Sisterhood is trying to keep all this hidden from me, they're not going about it in a very good way. It's more likely, since I was invited into Lemuel's home and was present when Peru and Lemaperu were dressed in full royal garb, that I'm meant to be in on it. For whatever reason. Breeding purposes, I'm thinking. Possibly recruiting. Or taking over the horses. I just don't know. Maybe no real reason. Maybe they just want to rub my face in it because they can.

But Grandma sleeps on. There's no way she's in on this at this point. Unless she's-- No, that's crazy talk. Able to separate from her body? That's total nonsense. But what keeps her alive? And how come I never see bedsores? What's she made of, linoleum?

The Mule Stands Alone

From my post yesterday, one sentence stands out and has been screaming in my mind ever since I hit the ENTER button:

So the mule exists by itself and dies alone after its servitude.

That's right, the mule stands alone. Which is what Lemuel is in his own home. I'm not big on names but look at his name, "Lemuel," which could be easily split as "Le muel." Then it's just a matter of flipping the EL and you got the exact animal. Hush my mouth.

And I like to think more highly of myself. But what do Peru and Lemaperu think of me? What do they see when they look at me? I'm unmarried, middle aged, no prospects, living with a widowed grandmother. I'll tell you. They see a mule in servitude, existing by itself and prepared to die alone.

Now -- go with me here -- what if the entire Grange Brotherhood is just a proud facade? What if the brothers are simply a barren of serving mules, keeping some level of pride by running around the countryside spying from every tree, when in actual fact there's a Grange Sisterhood pulling the strings?

Well, the answer is, I'd say, What is is. If that's what's going on, the rest of us would have to adapt, assuming they've fought it out over the years and are considering the matter for the most part resolved. Maybe this is why Grandpa dropped out, too much testosterone to stand it. And yet, and yet...

I'm racking my childhood memories and not coming up with much. He died first. Grandma lives on in a kind of perpetual existence. He worked hard and brought home the bacon. That's what a mule does. He took care of a lot of the heavy maintenance stuff around the house. Like a mule. In fact, now that I look back, every chore that you'd give over to a mule, if mules could do chores, seems like it was Grandpa's to do! Then he finally died ... after this dumb servitude.

Excuse me a minute. ... I creeped over by Grandma's room to make sure she wasn't up and talking on a radio. Everything seemed normal. She's sleeping. At 104 there's no way she's doing a whole spy thing on me. Surely not. The Sisterhood can't be depending on her for information.

So where does all this leave me? I think things are pretty much the same. I need to just go with the flow. It does knock down the whole idea of the glory of one day being the head of the Grange Brotherhood, which might still be a decent, honorary thing to do. But if the Sisterhood has a place for me in their service, there could be something good in that too. One thing they still need us for, I hope, is our service in reproduction. Which, I understand, brings with it some rewards.

But as for Lemaperu and sweeping her off her feet and romancing her, all those dreams I had -- she's a big gal, she'll probably sweep me off my feet. And as for romance, if she's as hardhearted as I'm starting to think, she'll have a whole biology lab with her. Checking my temperature, her temperature, charting our cycles, when you plant things by the light of the moon, sex almanacs, various horse manuals extrapolated for use among our own species, etc.

Then at just the right moment, by the light of the full moon, my head silhouetted against the moon, I'll let out a bray of victory, several sisters will appear, throw a bucket of cold water on me, and I'll be immediately kicked out of the room.

But an actual mule doesn't care. As long as he has something to chew on, some hay, and a warm barn to bed down in. They just go with the flow.

Lemuel's Queen and All About Mules

Lemuel and his wife, Peru, were very gracious as I arrived and sat with them.

I should probably note that Peru was enormous. A full head taller than Lemuel. And literally Peruvian. Lemuel met her in the circus as someone who could charm any animal. She's an Amazon. A jungle charmer. Obviously the power behind Lemuel.

Her name Peru is a nickname she got in the circus. Her actual name is something not meant to be pronounced except on ceremonial occasions or in mystical pursuits among her people. She definitely was not among the matrons at the dances, but off doing who knows what. In private being their Queen.

We sat in the parlor and Lemuel and I passed the time with small talk about the weather, how the week was going, and, of course, horses. I didn't really have much to say about horses, not knowing much about hippology, except I commented on how beautiful horses are -- a fact no one can argue with -- and how they're obviously more evolved than the mule.

Peru was looking at me with a piercing gaze. Through the evening I noticed, and it wasn't subtle, that Lemuel jumped to her every command. She was first in all things. Such a powerful bearing! Queenly.

But back to the mules. This is interesting. Lemuel agreed with my last point about horses being beautiful, then went into a scientific explanation of how we get mules, something about the horse having a multiplicity of genes, as do we, and they're configured and triggered in various ways. According to him, horse breeders are an insulated priesthood, no one knows where, working with and breeding the first, original line horses, tinkering with very refined acupuncture equipment and DNA. They're very esoteric and he said they burn a lot of incense.

Peru was staring straight ahead, like she was in a trance.

Lemuel, with all his expertise, which I envied, mentioned the horse's stubborn gene, the brute gene, the asexual gene, and the like. I didn't say much in reply, just nodded and uttered assent. I know better than to argue with anyone who buys horse feed by the barrel! There was one moment, though, when I was a little embarrassed, when he said "asexual." At that Peru's gaze dropped just below my belt.

I have this thing that goes on in my head. I call it paranoia. So it seemed like I shouldn't say anything or move. I certainly wasn't going to move my hands to cover myself down there at that point. Just let her stare and pretend I didn't notice.

I started to sweat, and I was hoping Lemaperu would hurry up and make her appearance. Finally, I broke the ice and asked whether I was "given to understand" that they had children, pointing to several tapestry icons on the mantle. Lemuel said they had a daughter, Lemaperu, who would be in shortly.

So we started in again with the topic of horses and mules -- all very interesting stuff -- but no sooner had we done so that Peru suddenly broke our train of thought. She clapped her hands, one loud, imperious, insistent clap. Lemuel rose to his feet, walked ceremoniously to her side, bowed, took her hand, and escorted her out of the room. With his free hand he waved for me to follow. Then he motioned, Back, back, back .... in other words, keep a respectful distance.

What I saw next was hard to believe. They had a double sized room with rich carpets and tapestry, and near the wall a platform, and on the platform two thrones and one regular easy chair off to the side, not on the platform. Lemuel led Peru to the bigger throne. Then he sat in the easy chair off to one side and motioned me toward a chair across the room.

All at once he stood, so I stood too, but Peru remained sitting. With that, a woman practically as big and important entered the room, not looking around, but advancing toward the other throne. She bowed her head gracefully at Peru, her mother, and was seated. Then Lemuel sat as well and I followed his lead.

Peru said in an official voice, "Our daughter, Lemaperu!" I nodded and said, "Glad to meet you." She nodded and that was it.

When no one said anything -- I was a little scared -- I waited for a little bit, then cleared my throat, and asked Lemuel to explain about the asexuality of mules. The women didn't seem to mind the natural vulgarity of discussing animal reproduction. And it was refreshing for me, who knew that animals "did it," of course, but just didn't know there were so many interesting details.

He went into a long explanation about equine reproduction, that it's a lot like the way we mate. The basic plot was that they go into heat and that the two genders come together in such a way that they end up with a colt. But a mule, he said, being the product of two different strains of the ancient hippoerectus, some kind of tiny prehistoric horse, is denied the heat function necessary for it to mate and reproduce. So the mule exists by itself and dies alone after its servitude.

Anyway, grange servants soon showed up with take-out from the Olive Garden and escorted Lemuel and myself to a different room. They were obviously going to serve the Queen first and her daughter. Lemuel and I were several rooms away and when it was time for us to eat, enjoyed the leftovers.

There didn't seem to be anything interesting to talk about, so I just asked him a few more perfunctory questions about mules, horses, mules at the Grand Canyon, and trivia, like how many legs does a mule have, etc.

And that was all I saw of the women for the evening. No pitching of woo. At the end I shared a nice handshake with my brother male and went home. All in all it was a great, great time!

All Things Being Equal (Lemaperu)

All things being equal, whether I meet Lemaperu or not it doesn't make any difference. If we marry, all things being equal, that'd be OK. If not, all things being equal, whatever.

Whether she looks one way or another, all things being equal, it's all the same. She may think I look like a troll (which I don't.) But all things being equal, she might see it that way.

If Lemuel and his wife want us to marry, all things being equal, it could happen. All things being equal, it'll be up to Grandma and me as well.

All things being equal, though, I'm feeling very complacent about the whole thing.

I guess I need to shuck this "all things being equal" outlook. It's like I died and went to Hindu heaven. Which, because of transmigration means I'd be right back here, all things being equal. So there's no reason to leave in the first place, all things being equal.

I need to shuck it, if that's my choice, because it's sapping my ambition. All things being equal, it's six of one, like that. I'm literally drifting off from thinking of it. All things being equal, why not sleep the day away? Why even go to Lemuel's? Why worry about the Grange Brotherhood? Why exploit my expertise in group dynamics, human environmental science, and the lifestyle sciences?

All great questions, all things being equal.

Lema, O Lemaperu!

I haven't even seen her yet, that I know of, but I'm so very much in love, perhaps, if that's where it's meant to go. Surely I've seen her. Wouldn't she had to have been one of the farmers' daughters at the grange dances?

But I wasn't overly impressed with the farmers' daughters. At least not like I am in my fantasies of the perfect farmer's daughter. Pinkish red top, some midriff showing, skimpy, cinched blue jeans cutoff shorts, little white socks (is that good?), whatever for shoes, tennis shoes, I guess. Then of course up here, the face, the head, the hair, all in the pert, sassy, sparkly, wild kind of way I like. And smart, smart enough to see through all of it. Then she could get rid of the costume and be a normal women, the kind I could love.

It's funny I was actually more impressed with the matrons, once the husbands had relaxed enough that I didn't feel like I was about to be kicked to death by one of Lemuel's horses. It's funny in a couple of ways. One, that I would be more impressed by them than the farmers' daughters. But the farmers' daughters have other interests. Or they're playing the part in such an amateurish way, the luring, tempting, testing, all that. Youthful ignorance. It's worth analyzing fully but I don't have time now.

Two, it's funny because the matrons are either my age or younger. Even though they are matrons, I tend to think of matrons as much older. But these gals are still relatively young, they're just matronly before their time. But they were having a better time, dancing with me, bumping and meeting in a looser way. Like they were ashamed of being matrons.

This looks like a job for the human environmental sciences. But I'm pressed for time.

Now my big concern is hoping I haven't put too much into this invitation to be with Lemaperu. Maybe they've already pledged her off to one of the local boys. Maybe a lot of things. And, there's no telling what Grandma might say, since she's the one who needs to give me away. If I get her woke up and explain to her what's going on, perhaps she'll keep sentience long enough to offer her blessing or long enough for me to guide her signature on some of the paperwork. The old customs die hard. Like a really good car battery.

Anyway, we're up to Wednesday, with it being impossible this week for time to speed by. Certain logistical troubles arise whenever you use the time speeder once you've stated a particular day of the week something is going on happen on. It's easier to lose three weeks than one day. So I wait just like everyone else, except I can't wait for Thursday to get here!

Lema, O Lemaperu! I hope you're lying in wait for me. I hope to walk you up the path. I hope we're holding hands before the evening's through. I hope your mom and dad leave us in the parlor. Maybe we'll go out and brush the horses. Maybe I'll see the moonlight in your smile. Is there even a moon out? I need to check the calendar. It's mid-August, when a man's fancy turns to romance.

Hold out your hand, my darling! Let me guide you to our love bower. As we sit and swing and enjoy those movements together, may the lovebirds that inhabit the world's flower trellises sing with their sparkling notes the songs that celebrate the union of man and woman, lovers who will find themselves lost in each other's everlasting company!

A Date With Lemaperu

I wrote about my sit down with Lemuel, the old horse keeper at the grange. That was early afternoon yesterday.

Then late afternoon, early evening, I stepped outside to see how summer was going, and there in my path I saw a gift basket from a bed and bath store with a gift card from the Olive Garden. Hmm, strange coincidence, wouldn't you say? Since this is exactly what I gave the guys in the trees along the road going toward the grange. Somebody must've been shaken down! And now they're being used by the Grange Brotherhood for what? to mock me in some way?! These were my first thoughts.

But I was pleasantly surprised and very much pleased to discover it wasn't that way at all. And that this was sent or put there by Lemuel and his wife. I don't know these people, of course -- Lemuel by sight, and his wife is probably one of the matrons. But according to the card there's at least three people in his family, including a daughter, Lemaperu. Obviously named after her dad and if Lemuel's wife turns out to be Peru, then I would say the name must be a combination of both. Like when Sam and Antha named their daughter Samantha.

What a nice gesture this is! Under the card there was a note that made it even more delightful, that they are inviting me out to their place on Thursday night for dinner. I can see where this is going and I like it a lot. Lemuel and Peru (if that's her name) are probably looking for a mate for Lemaperu and want to fix us up. That'd be OK with me. I've been single long enough and there's no prospects.

As for having to go out and find a mate on your own, I've never been a big fan of that custom. I like the old ways, where families arrange these things for you. Then you just lay in your bed with a sheet covering you, writhing there, waiting for her to show up as quickly as possible. For this silk is always nice, like with a nice southerly breeze pushing the curtains. A record playing something, music. Maybe a bottle of bubbly if you drink. Like that.

I was always afraid I'd end up with nobody. And that's the way it's been so far. I used to have this thought that when I became of age that I'd go uptown and stand by the electric company on this one particular corner and ask women passing by if they wanted to marry me. But then the electric company moved just about the time I became of age, so I was essentially lost. What now? And as it turned out I never married.

I've had many flings in my mind, I should confess, so I haven't been entirely shut out. I've followed a few in my car, so I definitely know where they live. Unless they've moved, because I'm not keeping track of these things with any kind of ongoing dedication. It's mostly in the spring, when a man's fancies turn to the things of romance. Those are the times you most want to keep your eye out and follow them home.

And now -- this is amazing -- one has followed me home.

Honey, we've never met. Perhaps on the dance floor, I didn't get your name. Excuse me, miss, are these your shorts hanging on the line? I might know you. If my instincts are honed. We shall see where it leads, perhaps we'll date, then marry, then alternately dwell in your father's and my grandmother's home.

The imagination runs wild, as is its function.

But I must slow down. And if I'm going to have dinner with them not forget my head. I need to lead with my head. Every group dynamics, human environmental sciences, lifestyle science, pavlovian trick I can think of! When it's love, it's love. But everything else needs help.

A Sit Down With Lemuel

The other day I specified the 3 R's of group dynamics, which "R" of course, 1 aRrange; 2 Reconnoiter; 3 Ruminate.

I like to say if you're not aRranging things, things are being aRranged for you. You must be proactive but low-key. People don't really notice. They just think you're being helpful.

As for Reconnoitering, this is another way of saying Keep your eyes open, but also to be deviously aware. It's also something that you have to be very proactive about. And out of the 3 R's -- and this doesn't just go for group dynamics but for all the human environmental sciences -- I think this is the most enjoyable. Because you're using all your senses, engaging your subjects while observing them.

Sometimes with reconnoitering, I know, the observer fears he or she might tamper with the subject too much, but it depends on what you're trying to achieve. Because some are going for knowledge for knowledge's sake, such as to chart general behavior, and, say, you wouldn't want to have a table there saying you're charting general behavior! Just like if you wanted candid photos you wouldn't say Smile and say cheese.

In a lot of my engagements with people I'm not looking for objective information, of course, because the engagements are primarily social, and I can't step back behind a one way mirror. Believe me, I'd love to! If I could live in a house or skyscraper that was full of one way mirrors, I'd move in a heartbeat. Then give me 30-40 assistants to massage data, and maybe one or two to massage me, and we'd have a great time. We'd be looking for secrets, charting secrets, doing psychological experiments till we were blue in the face. Fun stuff, too, like college students shocking unwitting victims, to prove something about original sin.

But as it is, I'm flying solo. And I don't really call my forays experiments as such. I'm doing what I do to make it to the next level. To get the understanding to give me a happier tomorrow. And, let's say it helps free the country and lessens rural paranoia, bridges some divides and opens up a free flow of trade, not to mention the sharing of ideas, etc., that'll be good too. The third R -- Ruminating -- is in this to some extent.

But let's return to Reconnoitering. I decided to do some reconnoitering of the grange complex. I know things are relaxed at certain times, like Sundays. I don't know where the rural people all go on Sunday morning, so I'm just guessing. The thought occurred to me that they bury themselves in a box of soil from their ancestral land, then close the lid and lay there to recharge. Or it could be they're in church. Either way, the morning is relaxed. There weren't any of the black hooded, black veiled guys in trees, leaving the country vulnerable to interlopers.

I drove out and parked in the same place as usual. Everything looked deserted. The grove, the field, the grange itself. Some of the farmers' daughters shorts were hung on a clothes line. I decided to saunter over and take a closer look. My verdict: Very interesting. My further verdict: Who says Reconnoitering isn't the most interesting R? It's where you get to use all your senses.

After some lengthy reverie in that vicinity, the gentle breezes helping my reverie immensely, I next decided to check out the barn. The door wasn't locked, but that didn't seem unusual, since it's just a barn. I opened the door a crack and didn't see anyone. So I went in. Soon I could hear some noises. It was the horses rustling around, eating, snorting, neighing. I thought of the old joke that horses are nothing but neighsayers, which brought a smile to my lips, playing across my features, enlightening my eyes, and perhaps flaring my nostrils with delight.

My joy was suddenly interrupted by a call from down the other end. I saw a man step from the shadows with a gun and ask me what I wanted. It was Lemuel, the horses' keeper, who, it turns out, lives in a small house behind the barn. From where he stood, with the door behind me open, and the morning sun streaming in, I must have looked like a silhouette. Bad aRranging, but I was caught unaware!

So using my best group dynamics tone (what I call the old We're all in this together tone), I said, "So there you are! I'm glad I ran into you!" That immediately disarmed him because now he knew I wasn't just sneaking around but was looking for him. Then a bit of flattery, "These horses are beautiful. You do a heck of a job with them!" Then some commisserating. I immediately sat down on a barrel, fanned myself with my hand, and said I was still a little tired from Friday night, and that I knew he must be too.

In a few seconds we were like close friends. I pulled over another barrel -- careful not to have him between me and the sun [aRranging] -- and we had a good old fashioned sit down. I was careful to keep my head at a lower level than his.

He told me his story, his love for animals at an early age, the revulsion he'd always felt at immorality, the need for people to go to church, how society is a complete waste, and so on. I nudged him a little -- verbally -- and asked why he wasn't at church. His answer astounded me, "A game toe," one of the exact same things I suffer with, and what I have to thank for my disability benefits. We had that in common, so we were totally on the same page. Same foot too, the right, and even the same toe, the big toe!

The things he said about morality and immorality, I really, really resonated with. And how society is a complete waste. It was all right on as far as I was concerned. (Meaning that's the story he got, since a lot of Reconnoitering is nothing but strategic agreeing with people.) Several times I trumped him, because people like that too; it lets them know you're really paying attention, plus, it lets them know you respect the progress they've made in life and your optimism for them to take it further. Like if he's giving an anecdote about some terrible thing -- let's say the ravages of rock music on religion's popularity -- I have a worse one.

We got on the subject of horses, which of course is his real pride. I buttered him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Each of these horses he trained. It's his signal they go by when they kick some immoral person to death. It turns out he used to train animals for the circus but quit when a monkey bit the big toe on his right foot. So that's where he got the game toe! Interesting. But why'd he quit? Because he felt like such a failure at the time and swore he'd never again work with animals. Then he moved to this area -- back ages ago -- was tested himself like the others are, passed the test, and eventually got the job from the old guy before him who died, etc., and he's been at it ever since.

He was happy to meet me, he said, and said he was impressed how I passed a very difficult orgy test a couple weeks ago. Somehow I knew better than to dare touch my zipper. He complimented me on my great discipline -- my morality -- and said he knew I was a rare breed. My intuition told me he was sizing me up to take over his job with the horses, just like he got it from the old guy before him, but I didn't say anything about it.

We parted as close friends. Lemuel. A nice guy indeed.

Now I'm back home to Ruminate, which, in part, you've been privileged to witness.