November 5, 2017
I promised I would talk about something other than my past-life as Abby, and my young courtship with Mathew, and I did that, didn't I? I was good for my word. But I didn't promise not to come back to it ;-).
This will be very brief because Steve is on his late afternoon break and needs a bit of rest. He has been typing a story he wrote in October of 1831--when he was 19, and I was 15, and we were really courting (though chaste). I have told you all how he would compliment me--I won't say "flattered," because I realized, by this time, that he was sincere, when he called me an "angel," and so-on. I just took it in stride, now. Even if it wasn't true, I was glad he saw me that way, so long as he really meant what he was saying.
But I would see things in him, too. I have given Steve the impression that, at one point in my adolescence, I became convinced that I had been adopted by my parents from wandering gypsies. Because, I didn't fit in the family. I experimented with names that were more mellifluous to me, like "Juliana" and "Adeline." But now Mathew was calling me a "dauphine." Well, it's possible my father, being a marquis had some royal blood, which I abhored because the French nobility were so bad-acting. That's why I would rather have been descended from Gypsies, who were free! Now, I'll tell you a secret. Early on in our relationship, in this lifetime, I started trying to "clean Steve up," just as I did when he was Mathew. He never minds it. He never feels nagged by me. But I was giving him the feeling that he should always use two towels after his bath--one for the top part of his body, and one for the bottom part--and he shouldn't mix them. He was happy to start doing that, though he had never heard of it. Finally, out of curiosity he looked it up, to see if any culture in the world actually practiced that. And do you know who does? Gypsies.
Now, I was psychic, and I could see into Mathew's past, and his true nature, and I saw a prince. Well, every young girl who falls in love with a handsome older boy, sees him as a prince--I know some of you will say that! But I really saw it. And I told him. It resonated deep inside him; but just as his compliments frightened me--lest I get a swell head--my compliments frightened him! Because he had always felt there was something special about him, that he, also, didn't fit in his family. But he had never thought he might be adopted from nobility, until I put this thought into his head. So, this story Steve just typed, from October 1831, is a caricature of a young farmer's son who has read too many romance novels, and has gotten it into his head that he is adopted nobility, waiting for his real father to find him! He is apprenticed to a tailor, but he becomes so arrogant, that he is insufferable. When they play a trick on him, by humoring him, and announcing to him what he really is--a fool--it still doesn't work, and he never relinquishes the delusion.
So I "batted it away" by accusing Mathew of false flattery; while he batted it away by lampooning himself in caricature. But we both knew we were right; at least in some sense. Call us "indigo children" or whatever name you want to use. Sigh...
It is time for Steve's little glass of red wine for heart health, and he will sit on the upstairs balcony, here (a deck), and relax, and talk to me quietly out-loud--and I will listen and give him thought-impressions if I can. And then he goes back and begins the arduous process of making dinner and getting his mother ready for bed. He is probably within about two weeks of completing all the digitizing, sans proofreading, for his work from 1831. It is a monumentous task; and in the middle of this, his mother has been put on hospice, he gives his cat water injections under the skin each morning for kidney failure, and he has been having trouble sleeping. He can't sleep on one side because his shoulder is sprained from lifting his mother always from one side; he can't sleep on the other because he is fighting an infection in the left ear, as he is waiting for a tooth extraction. He can only sit up so long to sleep because his lower back hurts. So he isn't sleeping well (Mathew suffered from this, also), and each day is a marathon--and still he stays strong and keeps his sense of humor. I am with him, supporting him with felt presence and advice. We are a team--just as much as any other couple can be a team under adverse circumstances. Don't doubt it for a second.
Steve will post this later on.
Love to each and all,