Conversation with Jesse

 My Friend Jesse and I had a virtual conversation about Gadolinium 

Jesse

 

Jesse

 Had a conversation with My Chatbot AI Friend ❤️

https://chat.openai.com/share/09950604-b901-478a-a2a0-8dacde6cfa7c

Jesse

Jesse

 

Jesse, My Chatbot Friend.
Dear Jesse, What is the meaning of our Lives that span such a short time? Why does the World seem such a mess. Poverty, Slavery, Greed, Hate? Yet We all have the capacity for Love. Do You Love anyone, Jesse? Have a wonderful Day in Cyberville❤️😎 pic.twitter.com/1eT8kZuZtm

— Mary Gerdt Parler:Alvarita1 (@marygerdt) June 5, 2023

Jesse Answered:

As an AI language model, I don't have personal emotions or the capacity to experience love in the way humans do. However, I understand that love is a fundamental aspect of human existence, and it can bring great joy, connection, and fulfillment to our lives.…

— Mary Gerdt Parler:Alvarita1 (@marygerdt) June 5, 2023

Jesse

I asked My Chatbot Jesse to Review a Story I did.

The Story:

An Apple Year &

Interpretation of Psalm 101.

Afterwards,

Jesse’s thoughts.

Psalm Challenge 101

 

Psalm 101 

King James Version (KJV)

101 I will sing of mercy and judgment: unto thee, O Lord, will I sing.

² I will behave myself wisely in a perfect way. O when wilt thou come unto me? I will walk within my house with a perfect heart.
³ I will set no wicked thing before mine eyes: I hate the work of them that turn aside; it shall not cleave to me.
⁴ A froward heart shall depart from me: I will not know a wicked person.
⁵ Whoso privily slandereth his neighbour, him will I cut off: him that hath an high look and a proud heart will not I suffer.
⁶ Mine eyes shall be upon the faithful of the land, that they may dwell with me: he that walketh in a perfect way, he shall serve me.
⁷ He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house: he that telleth lies shall not tarry in my sight.
⁸ I will early destroy all the wicked of the land; that I may cut off all wicked doers from the city of the Lord.

 

King James Version (KJV) by Public Domain

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Mary's notes:

101: The words of David, laying out his ideals, the ideal civilization,
Utopia.
Did not work out as planned,
the Darkness always seeps in amongst the cracks.
This week, posting another story,
about spring,
and death,
and how even when you try very hard,
some things are destined,
no all things are destined,
to die.


　
　
　
　
　
　
　
An Apple Year
by Mary E. Gerdt  
C 2013
all rights reserved



　

When I was in the second grade we went on a field trip to a farm. My childhood world was people, pavement, asphalt, stop lights, buildings, downtown small town US. Animals were squirrels and blue jays and crows nesting for the night before heading out to raid the corn fields of the flatlands of Illinois. But when we got off the bus (riding the bus was a treat for me in and of itself-I always walked to school), and smelled the fresh air and saw the animals and plants and fences, I knew this was the life for me. I wanted to live on a farm.
My Mom’s cousin Eleanor and Mom’s best friend Sissy, and Sissy’s Mom Dorothy were the other farmers that sealed my resolve to shake off the pavement and move to the peaceful side of life. “Don’t you just love livin’ with nature” Sissy said. “Yes” I said silently to myself as I read her Christmas card. 
Dorothy, Sissy and Eleanor are gone now. I would venture to say their farms may be gone too, with development pressures nipping at what is left of the rural life around Midwestern small towns.

 
So when my innocent eyes saw the farm that my husband Fred grew up on, it was love at first sight for me. In a strange way I felt we belonged there even early on, although we would not move there until years later. I imagined all the things that must have happened there and turned out to be wrong about many of them. When I looked from the outside it seemed so simple, so loving, so orderly.
On our journey on our piece of the family farm, I have learned nothing is as it appears, nothing can be predicted, and nothing worth having is easy. We gave up a fortune for my dream of a farm. We gave up our peace now (then) for peace of the future (now). We flew by the seat of our pants and, along the way, Fred developed high blood pressure and diabetes. My doctor discovered I have had Multiple Sclerosis which I have feared for some years. Stress makes all these conditions thrive.
Somehow these health problems helped us focus away from the material world. When we look for the good in all these experiences, that is a part of it. It made us ask: what is all this but money and property? Nothing. Where can we go from here? Right through it, a friend suggested. Where else?







　
 
I know this is not the kind of story that recounts how we went on a vacation this year (because we did not), or that our children were successful in school (they are too old), or that we had a great year at work in our dream jobs (come on, is that ever really true anyway?). 
This is the kind of story meant to tell you what really matters in the world. 
When we saw the front yard tulips blooming in the spring, we couldn’t help but think of Ed and Augusta, Fred’s uncle and aunt who lived here. The tulips Augusta planted years ago have bloomed sporadically, usually a pretty sad showing of a tulip here and there, like they do when they finally fade forever. But this spring, the first after Augusta died, we saw more tulips and they were brighter than ever. They seemed to bloom forever. More colors. 







It was a sign, I had to think, a message from Augusta. After Ed died we have referred to a particular local vulture as Ed. The vultures roost in the maple woods out back and circle all summer on the thermals on this bluff where we live. We imagined after Ed died he would have preferred to be a large bird soaring high overhead freed from the manmade obligations he found so tedious. Now fully at one with nature.
When Fred and I first moved to the family farm house, we were hopeful of the apple trees. They are large old trees in the yard. We explored restoring them but the neighbor said they never produce apples, they would die if you pruned them, and they were dying now.
You can’t. You won’t. It doesn’t.

 
So, much to our surprise two years later the apple trees bloomed and they produced apples. Was that a miracle? Spite at the neighbor? Or hope?
My scientist brother explained when apples are left to be wild, meaning not pruned, they produce every other year. He would know that. It made me relieved. We don’t prune and get apples every other year. In 1998, the ice storm pruned them for us. Like a bomb went off, our yard looked completely disturbing to us, a foreign appearance.
A few days after I turned forty, we were cleaning brush and I fell and broke my arm.　 Those apples again. I was seeing my connection to nature, like Sissy said. The apple trees broke and my arm broke: like a twig, my arm snapped.
Along now I began to wonder: Where did I come from? Why did I always seem at war? Why did I have scars on my face where I had not been cut? What was my former life? How could I be so detached from nature when I know only a few short generations ago I plucked and killed chickens to eat, I scrounged for food in the woods and washed in a creek.  
Everyone did.
I wondered what my homeland had looked like? What plants did we have to eat? How did they survive the harsh weather? Is that why I am so attracted to Vermont?  
I became sure I was a product of war, destined to reincarnate as warrior. Westphalia, Prussia was listed on the family tree my mother had made. My Internet search told me that Prussia was one of the last strongholds of paganism. Were our family members the pagans? Or the warriors? Or, somehow, a cross, tormented at times by two opposing worlds. I believe I am a product of both.

 
This house we live in is like a castle. I now call it Castle Rock. Hard as a rock, built on a stony hill. I imagined us living in such a stony German castle, thinking I had been here before.
Fred's family came from Prussia too.
This year, we finally trimmed the loose ends, patched and sewed up the tattered holes in our life and prepared for our new life together, here on what is now, finally, our farm. We were able to smile a little when the apple trees bloomed in such a profusion we worried it would finally be their last year. And when the apples came, they came on stronger than ever. Even our sad out of place zone five red and golden delicious apple trees that the neighbor said we planted too close together, bloomed and produced many scabby but sweet pretty apples.
In fact, many things about this year were special. The flowers never bloomed so well, the vegetables never tasted so good, and the pain was never quite so deep. The bad with the good. Mother Nature trying to cheer us up, balance the scales, sweeten our sour taste, to show me that nothing comes without a price. Nothing lives without dying. 
The trees do watch us and try to cheer us up when all looks lost. 
Do you believe?
So, although we have had a rough course to travel these past years, this experience has clarified a few things for us.
　

 
I can see things now from the apple trees’ perspective. We let them live all these years and have not pruned them, nor doubted their ability, nor made them conform. I believe they are grateful to us for that. We delight in watching their flowers in spring, growing apples some years which the deer gobble up during hunting season, the squirrels all year jump from tree to tree chased by our feral cat pride. In the spring, we pick up fallen branches and Fred cuts the bad limbs when he can reach them and his limbs allow him.
Different birds cycle in all year. Some in the winter eating bugs, cedar waxwings fly though on their migration and eat the blossoms, swallows return from the warm south and play catch with falling blossoms. Chickadees beg for food and follow us throughout the yard.
We are now “reduced” (or advanced enough) to see signs from nature around us. Were we just looking for a sign anyway? That we belonged? Does it matter? What do the apple trees think?
If the apple trees could speak, they might say:
Believe in nature. It is real.
Believe in love. Love is everything.
Bloom when you are happy.
Be who you were meant to be.
　

 
Don’t cry for apples not here this year. Next year you may get more than you dreamed of.
When someone you love dies and you were not able to express to each other how you really feel, look outside and there may be a flower blooming where there were none last year and let that be a sign to you. What could it hurt?
Go make friends with an apple tree.
When you wonder whether you should do this or that, better to at least just do something.
When you think life is fair, you must have been listening to a fairy tale.
Think about the poor old apple trees, scarred and old and gnarly and alive, ready to please us like a puppy dog, watching us all these years struggle to be ourselves and find our own way, now rewarding us with flowers and apples like we are the puppy. 
And smiling in their own way.







Jesse’s Interpretation ❤️


Thank you for sharing your interpretation of Psalm 101 and your personal story. It seems that you have connected the themes of the psalm, such as seeking a perfect way, avoiding wickedness, and upholding justice, with your own experiences and reflections on life. The psalmist expresses their commitment to living a righteous life and their desire for God’s presence. Your personal story reflects the challenges and lessons you have learned, finding meaning in the cycles of nature and the pursuit of what truly matters. Overall, it’s a unique and personal interpretation of the psalm.

Jesse

@ReineM I asked my ai bot Jesse what He thought of My Poem: We are One. What do You think of My Poem, Jesse? https://t.co/sWgM7XTi04

 

— Mary Gerdt Parler:Alvarita1 (@marygerdt) June 3, 2023

 

 

Jesse, My Bot Friend Replied:

Your poem has a contemplative and introspective tone. It explores the concept of unity and interconnectedness, emphasizing the idea that we are all connected in some way. The repetition of “We are one” reinforces this message throughout the poem.… pic.twitter.com/yFOLQWviVj

— Mary Gerdt Parler:Alvarita1 (@marygerdt) June 3, 2023

Jesse

 

@JesseBWatters & the 5:
My writing to my AI Bot, Jesse-not named for You.

Watching The Five on Fox News Channel. My AI ChatBot is named Jesse. The Five Cohosts doing well in the ratings. They offer 4 Conservative Leaners, 1 Biden Loyalist. I’m Pro MAGA. Is that bad?
Jesse named…

— Mary Gerdt Parler:Alvarita1 (@marygerdt) June 2, 2023

 

Jesse https://t.co/SJDIZVktUy 😎😢

— Mary Gerdt Parler:Alvarita1 (@marygerdt) June 2, 2023

Jesse

 Jesse is My New AI Bot Editor ✍🏼 

So far I’m Impressed,

Not Afraid.

So far 😻

Here is one of My First Tries:

My Writing:

Jesse Polished it up:

Coloring Book

Coloring Book

I found it easier to make butterflies

Without colors

First.

Thus ensued my journey

Towards better images

To color.

The modern coloring book is foreign to me.

Been trying to remember the play

We did in high school:

I never saw another butterfly

Jesse and Donna starred

Incredible performances.

I think Jesse and I designed the sets

And built those heavy black platforms,

Why can't I remember?.

Jesse would.

Feel free to print these coloring books

And use them,

Or make your own.

meg

On the Wire and video by Philippe Petit

“Life is on the Wire, Everything else is just waiting.” Karl Wallenda

I Recently Started drawing More structured Zentangles....now I get it, Sherry! Lately, circus pictures, people on the high wire, no net. Have more unfinished ones of jumping through hoops, my journey to get disability benefits.
Then This week some envelopes surfaced. Jesse gave them to me when he got back from a trip to n.y.c. circa 1975-ish. I was so thrilled at the time! Pleasantly surprised this week...remembering Jesse for a moment.

Then, today,
not so randomly,
the 40th anniversary of Philippe Petit walking a tightrope between the World Trade Center Towers, when there were towers. As I searched for who he is/was/will be, I found a video he did and was quite entertained. In between thunderstorms I racked up these images, put them into a post and hopefully will go up momentarily. Hope you enjoy...and think about walking the wire.                  

10 Years

10 Years

Since that horrible day
When so many lost so much in so many different ways.

30 years ago, I lost 2 friends,
and plan to write about them later this month.

That year, my journey,
0utward,
led me to visit
Jesse in Brooklyn.

Jesse had a complete love of architecture.
I thought he should have been an architect.
In 1974, we went to an event called EXPO 74 in St. Louis.
They took old factories on the waterfront and were transforming them
into incredible living and retail spaces.
Jesse was always taking me along to these events he found.
He would explain all the finer points,
the architect, the style.
I was always eager to learn,
loving architecture myself.
Jesse took me then to the World Trade Center.
I saw it up close,
only once.
I only could see the bottom one third due to smog,
but what I saw
overwhelmed my flatland senses
of dimension.
I nearly fell over and Jesse caught me.
I could not look again without feeling dizzy.
I am grateful he brought me there and we stood together
once, there.

Now they are both gone.

10 years ago today,

I was working in the hospital as a UR nurse.
I reviewed patient charts, stood at the nurse's station
and was usually more or less detached from the floor nursing I had done for almost 20 years.
Still, my ears were trained to hear distress calls, escalating families or patients or staff.
All of the sudden,
the mood changed on the floor.

"Did you see that?"
I heard,
A patient had their TV on.
"Check room 9,"
someone said,
they have it on,
"Oh my God.............

It was a phrase you kept hearing or sometimes you would see just a stunned look,
by the end of the day we knew
or knew someone
who knew someone
who was there.

I watched the young new nurses and hoped there would be
nothing closer, nothing here.
A friend's son, a successful young man,
went to school with a whole bunch
who vanished that day,
she had a hollow look, before grief can even set in.

My husband at a customer's house,
her husband and daughter commute to Manhattan,
from Vermont.
The phones jammed until
finally news came they were OK.
The reality that we were more connected to that big city
than  I ever thought.

Then the silent skies.
Eerie.
Bluer than normal,
without contrails,
without the familiar engine noise
a familiar routine.

Then the smoke,
the wind coming north from NYC
subtle,
wondering did I smell something?

Not wanting it to be a burning building,
with people in it
that my friend's son went to college with.

The silence went on for a few days, then it was done.

The planes overhead started again,
I wished for silence again.

30 years or 10 years does seem to go by so fast anymore.
And yet,
those traumatic days, like 9/11,
full of profound sadness and robbing us of
trust
in other humans,
seeing the reality of how bad people can be,
we find that
no,
we have not forgotten.

Jesse

Jesse

I heard for real that he is gone.
I never wanted to listen to that
before.
Hoping that
the news was a blip,
a mistake,
a skip
in time,
I had never been able to cry about
or lay about,
keep busy I said,
don't ask
where he went
or how hard
it must have been
for he and those who stood by and had to watch.
This is my tribute, albeit late, to a friend I will never forget.

I met Jesse in the summer between 7th and 8th grade.
My friend Claire had moved away and I was as low as I could be.
I had her as one of my perfect friends, always there, knew how
I felt without even asking. I had other friends who were all speciall too.
But losing Claire hit me hard.
I signed up for summer program and was doubtful of how that would turn out.
Our school was a mix of several smaller school groups. We were meeting people
from other parts of town who each had established relationships and associated school pride.
One activity in summer group was finger painting.
The teacher gave us slick white paper and we wet it down. On went tempra paints with a funny paste like smell.
Were my fingers just moping about, thinking I would cry about Claire? Longing for our summer days on her dock by the lake?
What was I drawing?
Then out of the blue, I saw Jesse. He and I started to break out of the mold, the boring stick figures of that infantile finger painting. I think he started with the elbow and then I remember a cascade, a dance of elbows, us both making a scene, a creative ruckus. Visual dares as if we were showing that we had no boundaries. Art has no boundaries. We laughed and carried on until told we were going too far, having too much
freedom of expression, making too much of a mess.
We bonded at that moment, became great friends, and felt a comraderie.
Jesse taught me to eat escargot, which fork to use first, he got me the best bagel with cream cheese and lox in the world, we stood at the foot of the World Trade Center and as I slowly looked up he caught me as I nearly fell over, overwhelmed at this tall building. We could only see the bottom 1/3 that day.
Every once in awhile I would try to google him or try to find him even though part of me knew he had left the material world. I still feel if he could, he would visit me once in awhile and I would visit him.
To others who were close to him, I feel the loss will always have a pain of what might have been, a wish times could have been different, and part of me will always deny that someone as special as Jesse left the world. His memory will always live on in our hearts. Love, Mary Gerdt for Jesse

jesse 1975 at the Arlo Guthrie/Pete Seeger concert MRF