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J. J. Brown, Wordslinger

"I Sling Words As I Go Along."

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puzzles

So, I binged the first six episodes of Twin Peaks: The Return (2017)…..

…….and let me first just say one thing.

Holy Douglas fir trees, Agent Cooper!

There are so many details to marvel at, that I’m not even going to attempt to put them into words.  I will, however, wax rhapsodic over how the story evolved over these six episodes, going from disconnected, strange pieces to what appears to finally settle into some kind of pattern that I’m not entirely too sure of, yet.

There won’t be any spoilers in this post, mainly because instead of focusing on the show itself, I’d have been writing down what happened as it happened.  That’s not conducive to enjoying the show.  I expect that, when I have this season on Blu-Ray or DVD, I’ll be going over it again and again and again, to catch every little detail.  Because that’s what the Pause and Search buttons on the remote are for.

“I’ll see you again in 25 years.”

So said Laura Palmer Dale Cooper towards the end of Episode 29 of the original series (22, if you’re going by season).  It was worth the wait and I’m glad I was able to watch multiple episodes of Season Three.  It would have been nerve-wracking waiting for it each week, trying to keep up with the details and the symbolism and what it all means.

Laura Palmer still seems to be the main thread that runs through the entire story of Twin Peaks and Dale Cooper is still trying to unravel it – or reweave it into a new pattern.

In any case, I have to wait on seeing the next few episodes.  As nerve-wracking as that may be, I’m glad – being able to binge-watch several episodes actually helps keep the continuity flowing and I went from seeing multiple, seemingly unrelated episodes scatter different pieces around to watching as they started to coalesce into something concrete.

What that is, I’m not entirely certain.  But I’m looking forward to finding out.

What I call Gordon Cole’s The Blue Rose Missing Pieces Edition.
Because I can.
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So, it seems I have a mystery on my hands……

……about my great-grandfather, his three (yes, three) different birth years, the lack of a birth certificate from the state he was (allegedly) born in or any record of his parents in the same area. What information I have at hand comes from his diaries (beginning in 1902 and skipping to 1912), a death certificate, family lore and some historical references (my great-grandfather was something of a mover and a shaker in his day). Everything prior to 1900 is obscured in the shadows of time, lack of personal diaries and any connections to his siblings. I don’t even know their descendants or when my great-great-grandparents died or even where they are buried.

The information, as I’ve mentioned in another blog post, is sketchy at best. I have a death certificate for my great-grandfather (to be referred to as E.J. from now on), which has his parents names and general location of where they were born. I have good pieces of information, but I’m unable to fit them together and make a complete picture of the man who was such a strong influence in local events. He died years before I was born, so I have no memory of him, but his diaries make it clear that I would have enjoyed his dry wit.

He left home at a young age and for all intents and purposes, it seems he never looked back. He didn’t forget his past, but he didn’t seem to dwell on it, either. A lesson, I suppose, we should all embrace. But I want to know him, to know his history, his parents, his siblings. I’m very lucky – I know where most branches of my family came from, who they were and where they’ve been.

E.J. is an enigma, a mystery, a man who came out of the mists, almost as if he was born the day he left home and moved west.

I have a mystery on my hands. I have few leads and they only seem to lead to more mysteries. It is time to put on my deerstalker cap and think like the man who literally invented the forensic sciences over a century ago with the creation of the world’s most famous fictional detective.

It’s time to ask myself “What would Sherlock do?” and use his methods of elimination to find my answers.

Because what will be left, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.

Excerpt: Untitled Fantasy Novel

My brother Angus was the better swordsman, but my arrow always held true and found its mark, even in the strongest wind. Father had always maintained that my eye, my sure hand with a bow, could easily bring down a charging bull. Angus would roll his eyes at such praise leveled at his younger sister, but it was just as precious to me as the charm Mum made us wear under our tunics….

And there it was, the reference of a charm worn by Amidelanne, the first woman archer to have ever made captain in the King’s Army of Talisierre.
I marked the page with a broken quill, shut the heavy tome with care and sat back in my chair with a sigh. It had taken me more than two months of painstaking research through the collected histories of Talisierre. The histories were a set of twenty volumes, each book more than two thousand pages of recorded events, written in a cramped hand.
I had finally found what I was looking for, that brief mention, in volume nineteen.
Leaning forward, I ignored the sudden aching protests of my muscles and snatched up my quill. Dipping it in ink, I reached for a fresh page of parchment. I made quick notes about what I’d found, the quill making soft, scratching noises as I wrote. The sound was soothing and I was soon lost in it.
A half hour passed before I finish, my hand aching. Folding the page into thirds, I tucked the slip into my knapsack. Scowling at volume nineteen of The Histories of Talisierre, I stood and, hefting the massive tome with both hands, walked back to the stacks. I replaced it with care back among its siblings, my fingers caressing the worn bindings of each volume, my thoughts drifting.
It wasn’t much, that reference, I thought. It seemed to be more of a throwaway comment. The charm had no other importance attached to it, in the eyes of the historians. Other than it was a gift from her mother, there was not even a description of it in Amidelanne’s own words.
And yet, legends had risen about this charm, this bit of magic worn around a young girl’s neck. A girl who became an archer in the King’s Army, then rose to the rank of captain. So it did have some meaning, both to the wearer and to the person who began the stories that surrounded it.
I reclaimed my seat and leaned back, my eyes drifting closed as my thoughts swirled, trying to make sense of the knot I had before me. How had these legends of a charm not described come about? Did it still exist? What sort of magic did it claim? And who wanted it badly enough to commit murder?

That was what bothered me most in my research – that someone willfully committed violence over what some would dismiss as mere stories.

 

***
Edited: This was previously published January 2015 on Hubpages.com in two parts, here and here. JJB

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