"Is it?" I said.
"It is a beautiful morning," she said again, "with sunshine, blue skies, and Cardinals in the cypress trees singing 'pretty, pretty.' This last bit was a repeat of one of my mother's gags and it opened the door for a quip about all the cardinals who pray to be on vacation now that they've been released from conclave but I just didn't have it in me.
Today was already measuring up to be one of those days when making a shadow would have to suffice.
"There is no sunshine in the heart, Poopsie, and no sunlight in the soul," I said. "Fate has sneaked up behind me and let me have it behind the ear with a sock full of wet sand."
"The day will get better," she said as if she could possibly know anything about what my day would be like but this Wonder meant well and I didn't want to question her optimism. You know how it is when you do question these descendants of the Russian nobility, they quickly become imperial on you, and that never ends well.
Not long after this conversation, I was safely ensconced in Native Grounds, not yet coffeed but seated and waiting for my order to arrive via Anna, who was filling in for Amy Normal. The Normal, I guessed, was out late last night saving south Durham from a dark fate and was even now, I reckoned, recovering in bed with Foo Dog, her manga-haired boyfriend.
"It's a beautiful morning," said Island Irv when he joined me at the table.
"Let's just pretend we've already had this conversation," I said.
It was at this moment that Amy, against all my expectations, shimmered into my consciousness with what seemed to be a special delivery for Irv. Even without caffeine, the Genome is pretty quick and I realized immediately that she had brought the get-well card for Irv to sign, he not being among those present yesterday when everyone had written little nuggets of encouragement to the Music Man, who recently was hospitalized with kidney stones.
"I know the feeling," said Amy who had apparently overheard my comments to Irv, "give me a good storm and I feel that I've gotten my money's worth out of the day."
Everyone in the room was looking at Amy. Hard to say why. Not because there wasn't a lot to grab the attention. She is striking in the way dark-haired, fair-skinned, burgundy-lipped young women are striking but then there's the pink tutu and black fishnets and standard-issue beetle crushers that have their own dramatic appeal. So, as I said, hard to say why.
At that very moment, a blond, dreadlocked young man appeared at our table. "Irie, me caffeine dreadies," he said shaking his gorgontian hair, "I be Makeda, disciple of Master Genome, gonna learn to be qigong ninja just like he."
Makeda momentarily took the attention from Amy but that didn't distract her from her mission. "You gonna sign that or what?" she said to Irv who was now doing a fair improvisation of those large fish in the tank at China Palace Restaurant.
"Ah, Jah's mercy!" said Makeda taking in an eye-full of Amy at point-blank range. "Please say you belong this tribe, Snowy Biscuit. I and I fire up a spliff of sacred herb and we sail the ship on home to Zion together."
"Douche-nozzle," said Amy to Makeda and then to Irv, "Sign the damned thing."
"Yeah," said Makeda to Irv, "and why you give me the stink eye?"
Now if you're a member of the gang who never begins the day without first checking in here to get the latest news of the Renaissance District of South Durham, then you've already guessed that Island Irv was non-plussed by all the attention.
His overall appearance suggested a man so faint, so spiritless, so dull that he may as well have been the bozo who drew back Priam's curtains in the dead of night to announce that the better half of Troy was scorched, or so it seemed to me.
"Sign," said Amy and immediately crossed her arms to signify, well, I'm not exactly sure what it was meant to signify but I'm sure it meant something. Irv opened his mouth to allow the spirit to give utterance but nothing came out. We observed a moment of silence at the table.
When his mouth next opened the sound that came out was a sort of gulping, not unlike the sound my cat Beignet makes just before delivering a hairball. I could see that whatever he wanted to say, Shakespeare could have managed it probably, but all the nouns and adjectives that presented themselves to Irv were simply inadequate.
Amy slammed her fist on the table. Irv gave a violent start, then quickly wrote something in the card. To snatch that card up and slide out the door was with Amy the work of an instant. When all the qi had settled, I looked around and discovered, to my surprise, that I was alone again with Irv.
"Did Makeda leave?" I asked.
"He followed Amy," he said.
"Genome?" he said.
I couldn't think of a reason to deny it so I admitted that it was I, the Genome.
"Do you think it's wise to take that young man on as a disciple?"
"Use your intelligence, if any," I said with what was probably too much topspin, "I don't take disciples, and neither do I take apprentices. Makeda is one of my students at Straw Valley."
"Are you a qigong ninja?"
"Irv," I said. "there is no such thing as a qigong ninja. At least I don't think there is. Perhaps at the Shaolin Temple," I added.
"That young man smokes ganja," he said.
I gave him a look. Ganja! Can you credit it that this Island Irv used the word ganja?
"He smokes pot, you boob," I said.
"Well, no matter if he smokes Hava-Tampas," he said, "I think this guy is trouble."
I decided the time had come to change the subject and considering what a big morning it had been for 'just that very moment,' it seemed one of them had come.
"So," I said, "what did you write in Music Man's get-well card?"
He stared at me doing that fish impression again.
"Did you say, get well card?" he said.
"Well," I said, "the Music Man is in hospital having just survived a trying ordeal with a particularly virulent gang of kidney stones. Of course, we're expressing our best wishes. What did you write?"
"I thought it was a birthday card," he whimpered.
You will remember that I had started this day in a somber mood. No silver linings. Hearing these words, however, my day brightened a bit and I began to feel that there was hope for raising the spirit.
"Did you say something about 'many happy returns?'" I asked and I may have had a smile on my face.
"Almost," he said, "I quoted Dr. Seuss. I couldn't think of anything else with all that pressure I was under."
"What did you write? Out with it," I said.
He said, " I wrote, Don't cry because it's over. Be happy that it happened."
It just goes to show that no matter how deep you may be in the soup, in the blink of an eye, a friend appears and throws you a rope.
artist Charlie Harper
"The day will get better," she said as if she could possibly know anything about what my day would be like but this Wonder meant well and I didn't want to question her optimism. You know how it is when you do question these descendants of the Russian nobility, they quickly become imperial on you, and that never ends well.
Not long after this conversation, I was safely ensconced in Native Grounds, not yet coffeed but seated and waiting for my order to arrive via Anna, who was filling in for Amy Normal. The Normal, I guessed, was out late last night saving south Durham from a dark fate and was even now, I reckoned, recovering in bed with Foo Dog, her manga-haired boyfriend.
"It's a beautiful morning," said Island Irv when he joined me at the table.
"Let's just pretend we've already had this conversation," I said.
It was at this moment that Amy, against all my expectations, shimmered into my consciousness with what seemed to be a special delivery for Irv. Even without caffeine, the Genome is pretty quick and I realized immediately that she had brought the get-well card for Irv to sign, he not being among those present yesterday when everyone had written little nuggets of encouragement to the Music Man, who recently was hospitalized with kidney stones.
"I know the feeling," said Amy who had apparently overheard my comments to Irv, "give me a good storm and I feel that I've gotten my money's worth out of the day."
Everyone in the room was looking at Amy. Hard to say why. Not because there wasn't a lot to grab the attention. She is striking in the way dark-haired, fair-skinned, burgundy-lipped young women are striking but then there's the pink tutu and black fishnets and standard-issue beetle crushers that have their own dramatic appeal. So, as I said, hard to say why.
At that very moment, a blond, dreadlocked young man appeared at our table. "Irie, me caffeine dreadies," he said shaking his gorgontian hair, "I be Makeda, disciple of Master Genome, gonna learn to be qigong ninja just like he."
Makeda momentarily took the attention from Amy but that didn't distract her from her mission. "You gonna sign that or what?" she said to Irv who was now doing a fair improvisation of those large fish in the tank at China Palace Restaurant.
"Ah, Jah's mercy!" said Makeda taking in an eye-full of Amy at point-blank range. "Please say you belong this tribe, Snowy Biscuit. I and I fire up a spliff of sacred herb and we sail the ship on home to Zion together."
"Douche-nozzle," said Amy to Makeda and then to Irv, "Sign the damned thing."
"Yeah," said Makeda to Irv, "and why you give me the stink eye?"
Now if you're a member of the gang who never begins the day without first checking in here to get the latest news of the Renaissance District of South Durham, then you've already guessed that Island Irv was non-plussed by all the attention.
His overall appearance suggested a man so faint, so spiritless, so dull that he may as well have been the bozo who drew back Priam's curtains in the dead of night to announce that the better half of Troy was scorched, or so it seemed to me.
"Sign," said Amy and immediately crossed her arms to signify, well, I'm not exactly sure what it was meant to signify but I'm sure it meant something. Irv opened his mouth to allow the spirit to give utterance but nothing came out. We observed a moment of silence at the table.
When his mouth next opened the sound that came out was a sort of gulping, not unlike the sound my cat Beignet makes just before delivering a hairball. I could see that whatever he wanted to say, Shakespeare could have managed it probably, but all the nouns and adjectives that presented themselves to Irv were simply inadequate.
Amy slammed her fist on the table. Irv gave a violent start, then quickly wrote something in the card. To snatch that card up and slide out the door was with Amy the work of an instant. When all the qi had settled, I looked around and discovered, to my surprise, that I was alone again with Irv.
"Did Makeda leave?" I asked.
"He followed Amy," he said.
"Genome?" he said.
I couldn't think of a reason to deny it so I admitted that it was I, the Genome.
"Do you think it's wise to take that young man on as a disciple?"
"Use your intelligence, if any," I said with what was probably too much topspin, "I don't take disciples, and neither do I take apprentices. Makeda is one of my students at Straw Valley."
"Are you a qigong ninja?"
"Irv," I said. "there is no such thing as a qigong ninja. At least I don't think there is. Perhaps at the Shaolin Temple," I added.
"That young man smokes ganja," he said.
I gave him a look. Ganja! Can you credit it that this Island Irv used the word ganja?
"He smokes pot, you boob," I said.
"Well, no matter if he smokes Hava-Tampas," he said, "I think this guy is trouble."
I decided the time had come to change the subject and considering what a big morning it had been for 'just that very moment,' it seemed one of them had come.
"So," I said, "what did you write in Music Man's get-well card?"
He stared at me doing that fish impression again.
"Did you say, get well card?" he said.
"Well," I said, "the Music Man is in hospital having just survived a trying ordeal with a particularly virulent gang of kidney stones. Of course, we're expressing our best wishes. What did you write?"
"I thought it was a birthday card," he whimpered.
You will remember that I had started this day in a somber mood. No silver linings. Hearing these words, however, my day brightened a bit and I began to feel that there was hope for raising the spirit.
"Did you say something about 'many happy returns?'" I asked and I may have had a smile on my face.
"Almost," he said, "I quoted Dr. Seuss. I couldn't think of anything else with all that pressure I was under."
"What did you write? Out with it," I said.
He said, " I wrote, Don't cry because it's over. Be happy that it happened."
It just goes to show that no matter how deep you may be in the soup, in the blink of an eye, a friend appears and throws you a rope.