"You know, the longer I live, the more I feel that the great wheeze in life is to be jolly well sure of what you want."
-- Bertie Wooster
I wonder if you are familiar with the works of the poet Browning. It is his words that I remember each morning in my attempt to put the proper English on the day. The lark is on the wing, the snail, the thorn; God is in his Heaven and the bluebird is strutting her stuff. Or words to that effect.
If you've no time for poets, Browning or otherwise, then you might string along with the psalmist who said, "Joy cometh in the morning." That about sums it up for me. No matter how active the slings, no matter how thick the air with arrows, when the new day arrives, it frees us from the limitations of yesterday.
But I confess this was not my mood as I upholstered the outer crust for meditation in the courtyard at Straw Valley this past weekend. It was a somber morning full of thoughts on what life was to be like without Lucy in the house. Somber yes but the Genome does not eat pine needles and he maintains zero tolerance for the activities of Princess Amy, as I'm sure I don't have to remind you.
I was more or less a thing of fire and steel as I drove through the streets of the Renaissance District and blew into the doors of Dulce Cafe. I don't suppose I've been this close in years to shouting the ancient battle cry of the Jarls but just as the the mouth opened to vent, I spotted a familiar form in the shadows.
"Morning, Vinnie," I cried to The Enforcer causing him to miss the lips and dribble coffee down the chin. His reaction was much like the warhorse upon hearing the bugles, not that I've seen them first hand mind you, but I'm told that they start, they quiver, they paw the field and rejoice in their strength saying, "Ha ha" among the trumpets. Well, give or take a "Ha" or two, that was pretty much Vinnie.
I took my seat with Ms Wonder on one side and The Enforcer on the other with the feeling that these two had been ordained from the beginning to be with me on this morning. As the storm raged in the soul, I was seated at a table with the civilian equivalent of the United States Marines. All would be well is the thought that filled the coconut.
After a few minutes talking of this and that, something caught my attention coming through the door. "What's wrong?" asked the Wonder, looking at me with concern. "You look like a startled cat." Then she said something about it being very becoming on me. But I barely heard the words.
There are times, to be sure, when one with a burden of woe is happy to welcome any acquaintance to the table, even a disambiguated one with a marked resemblance to a barnyard fowl, but this morning wasn't one of them. What I found particularly irksome in the Duck Man was the look he wore of owning the world and having paid cash for it, avoiding finance charges.
When he took his seat, he opened a discourse on a subject of interest only to him and he refused to relinquish the floor even when vigorously opposed. In fact, he seemed to relish the opportunity to offend.
Even when Mary arrived--the good and deserving Mary who always has something of interest to say and who always leaves us feeling encouraged and optimistic, even this Mary was buffeted by the Duck Man's insistence on attention.
"Please join us," I said to Mary hoping against hope that we could turn the tide of avian impersonators and save the morning. "I'm sorry," she said, "I need to hurry home and get ready for church." As she walked away, Vinnie gave the Duck Man a quick glance and then called out to Mary, "Pray for us, Mary."
That having been accomplished, I pushed off and got on with meditation in the courtyard. Live comes hard and fast--accept any help that comes your way, no matter the source.